


Downward Dogs of War

by ravingrevolution



Series: Posing Problems [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: BAMF Stiles, Canonical Character Death, Consent Issues, Domestic Violence, Dream Sharing, Feels, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Magic, Manipulation, Mates, Miscommunication, Suspense, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-19
Updated: 2013-09-15
Packaged: 2017-12-20 15:48:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 45
Words: 179,826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/889050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ravingrevolution/pseuds/ravingrevolution
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>- The sequel to Salutations or Something - </p>
<p>So, after the whole Chicago slash Wisconsin fiasco Stiles decided that perhaps a nice quiet trip back home to Beacon Hills would help sooth his slightly mangled heart and lightly battered spirit and whatnot.<br/>Yeah.<br/>That's not quite what happened.<br/>It turned out, sparks were a pretty rare commodity.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“Hi, I’d like a one way ticket to LAX. It doesn’t matter where the layover is, as long as I get out of here sooner rather than later.” Stiles said with a wry kind of a grin, mindful of his busted lip and bruised cheek and he probably looked like a hot mess.

The check-in agent fixed a smile on her face even though he could tell his appearance made her kind of uncomfortable. “Sure, I’ll see what I can find for you sir.”

She tapped away at the computer for a minute, then looked back at him with professional politeness. “It looks like there’s a seat available on a flight leaving in an hour. The layover is overnight in Denver and the connecting flight leaves there at six in the morning local time."

Stiles barely kept himself from heaving a sigh of relief. Even if the wolves somehow managed to track him from the house as soon as they got out, which he assumed was probably around sunrise, he'd still be on his second flight by then, even taking time zones into account.  "Yes, that's perfect, how much?"

She consulted the screen again. "With tax and fees it comes to five hundred and seventy four dollars."

Which was pretty much what he'd pilfered from Gerard. "Sure," he said easily and counted off the bills like it wasn't a totally bizarre thing for him to do. "Surprising my dad," he explained, “I don't want him seeing the charge on my card, so I hope this is okay. It isn't a problem, is it? The cash, I mean."

It kind of looked like she thought it might be an issue but then he rubbed his cheek under the bruise and glanced behind him like he was nervous about something, which honestly he kind of was, and she forced her smile to stay in place. "No, it’s not a problem. Any bags?"

Stiles went through the whole song and dance, using his California ID instead of his Illinois one and in short order he had a ticket in hand and waved farewell to the woman who probably thought he was either a fugitive or a domestic violence victim. Maybe both.

He went around to the escalator, tension fixed in his shoulders and back even though he knew logically that he wasn't being pursued by anyone. Derek and the rest were trapped in an inescapable basement and would stay there until the moon had set. He kind of wanted to get out his phone to check when that was, but remembered the battery was almost dead, so he just focused on acting like he wasn't a threat to the general public as he went through the security line. It didn't occur to him until he was next in the queue that he probably should have put the mountain ash, which looked like some kind of dark nefarious powdered substance, in something other than his pocket before trying to travel across the country by air.

But whatever, the bored officers didn't choose to fondle him, though one younger guy kind of blushed when Stiles took off the scarf and jacket, revealing the purpled hickies on his neck. Actually that was probably why they hadn't chosen him, plus his oversized clothing and the fresh bruise on his face. So yeah, he made it through unmolested.

The airport was tiny compared to LAX or even Chicago’s O’Hare. Most of the shops were closing up, but Stiles managed to snag a bottle of water and some Reese’s before the nearest kiosk closed. He kind of regretted not borrowing, well, stealing, one of the Hale’s books before he’d left, and had to resort to either thinking about all of his horrible life choices, possibly his sudden flight home included, or go through the only thing he had on hand to entertain him, which was his numbers notebook since he wasn’t willing to pay to use wifi for his laptop just for the twenty or so minutes he had before boarding.

Numbers it was.

After a while after he’d first started working for Youngblood and West, going over his findings had kind of became a hypnotic sort of coping mechanism for Stiles. He could just follow the lines of text, chasing the numbers until they sort of blurred into a broader pattern that allowed him to see the true nature of the account and whether or not things added up as logically as they should have. That’s how he’d sorted out the Argent mess, which he actually might have solved sooner if he’d known where to look, which was apparently in their police records. So, that had been slightly unexpected, but most of the time all he really needed were the numbers he jotted down, and generally they flowed as predictably as he’d expect.

A part of him was anxious about the Argents, though, probably because of the horrific fallout that had come from confronting them, or, rather, being confronted by Kate and Gerard. And Jesus, he really had killed the guy. Well, him attacking Stiles and Boyd had killed him. Because apparently not only was mountain ash good for creating barriers, but it could actually be kind of weaponized if laid properly against the enemy.

Stiles flipped to the back of his notebook where he’d ripped out all of those pages while writing Derek’s letter and started a list of things he wanted to find out about his newfound abilities, with a column off to the side for what he’d already learned. The first was a lot longer than the second, but it was a place to start.

  
  


Luckily, the Denver airport was bigger than the one in Madison, so Stiles was able to find plenty of shops still open despite the late hour. None of them sold the charger he needed for his phone, though, so he went in search of some provisions for the overnight stay and something to cover up the marks on his face and neck.

He finally managed to find a place that sold makeup about a third of the way through the airport. It was pretty insanely expensive, but the saleswoman was more than happy to help him pick out the right color to match his skin tone and even gave him some tips on how to apply the powder foundation and concealer. It kind of looked like she wanted to help him with it, actually, but in the end she just took the remainder of his pilfered crumpled bills and wished him luck.

When he went into the bathroom to put it on the other guys gave him strange looks, but no one questioned him because they were in an airport and people wandered around doing weird shit all the time during their layovers. The split lip was a lost cause, but at least the stark red on his cheek was less noticeable after he’d worked on it for a while. He slipped the compact and tiny tube into his bag and wandered around some more, tired of sitting, tired of being stuck in his own head, but afraid to put his phone back together and waste his battery listening to music or surfing the web or any of the other things he’d usually do to distract himself.

For some reason he was also reluctant to boot up his laptop, aside from the ten dollar internet connection fee. It was probably in part because as soon as he logged on he expected Scott to immediately try to have a face to face chat, and while Stiles was no longer concerned about his friend seeing the gnarly bruise, he was in an airport and didn't think his fellow travelers would appreciate Scott's unsubtle version of a frantic hello, which generally involved screaming and obscenities. So instead, Stiles settled for picking up a paperback bestseller, about the main character's intellectual journey or whatever, and read it as he walked back and forth around the mostly deserted terminal.

It must have been more engrossing than he'd expected because the next thing he knew they were calling his flight and he'd read almost the entire thing. His legs were a bit sore from all the walking, but he'd succeeded in distracting himself from the shitshow that was his life. No one stared at him when he boarded that time, well, at least not because of the bruise, which was still pretty well covered up. He did get some odd looks because of Derek's oversized leather jacket, though, but whatever, it was a nice jacket and surprisingly comfortable. The fact that it smelled like leather and Derek and comfort wasn’t too terrible, either.

He managed to finish the book shortly after takeoff, then passed out for the rest of the flight, his sleepless night and the previous days of frantic activity finally catching up with him. He jolted awake when the captain announced their descent into Los Angeles and had a dizzying moment of confusion before be realized what was going on and where he was.

Almost home.

Which was a bittersweet notion. He knew he’d have to tell his dad about what had gone on, at least the non-supernaturally-related parts. That wouldn’t earn him any favors from the man who was already skeptical about Stiles’ ability to keep himself in one piece even without him living in a city notorious for corporate fraud. So yeah, he wanted to go home, but he also kind of wanted to hide in a hole somewhere while the whole mess blew over.

It took awhile to disembark, but by then he had his phone out and on. He took a deep breath and dialed Scott.

Who picked up on the first ring. And that wasn't a good sign.

"Stiles where the hell are you? Your dad's been frantic! I tried calling Laura but she didn't pick up and-"

"Scott, woah," Stiles said, stepping off to the side of the hallway so other people could pass him. "Hey, I'm okay, I'm at LAX, actually."

"Are you serious? Your dad's there and he’s about to catch a flight to Chicago!"

Stiles swore and ran to the nearest outgoing flight board, apologizing to people he bumped into on way. "Scott, is it a direct flight?" he asked, skimming the names and seeing one that was set to take off forty minutes later. Of course it was in a different terminal.

"What? I don't know, I think so."

"Fuck, my phone's almost dead. I'll call you back with a pay phone if I don't find him in time. Later."

He didn't wait to hear his friend's farewell as he hung up and started jogging in the direction of what he hoped was his father's gate. Another good thing about airports was the general acceptability of people who weren't all that timely and had to run around the place to catch their flight. Stiles took advantage of that and sped through the crowds on a mission.

The plane was boarding when he got there, but he saw his dad straight away at the back of the line looking haggard and fearful, ticket in one hand and his soft leather suitcase that usually contained case files in the other.

"Dad!" he said as he approached and when the sheriff turned it looked like he'd seen a ghost before he dropped his bag wrapped Stiles in the tightest, best hug he'd had in ages.

"Jesus, kid, what the hell do you think you're doing?" he finally said, pulling Stiles back to look at him.

There were tears in his eyes and he smiled, his dad's eyes instantly going to his split lip. "I'm here and I'm okay," Stiles said because that was really the most important thing for the other man to know. "Oh, um, I'm actually here, like to stay at least temporarily, so do you still want to go to Chicago or can we head home?"

The older man shook his head wryly with a deep sigh, "You'll be the death of me, kid."

Stiles snorted, "I certainly hope not! Come on, let's get out of here. Oh, wait, did you check a bag, I don't know how to get it back if you did."

His dad shrugged, "Didn't really care to pack after I read about your latest exploits. Don't think that makeup is fooling me, either. I want to see that bruise when we get home, but for now you're going to tell me every single thing that's happened to you in regards to this Argent business, and don't even try leaving anything out Vyacheslav."

Yeah, as family reunions went it wasn't the best, but Stiles was finally where he belonged, so he couldn't complain. The storytelling, though, that was going to be the tricky part.

  
  


The sheriff, because that's who was asking him questions, made him start at the beginning, from when he'd first been assigned the account and his subsequent realization that the whole situation had been a bit strange, especially with the older auditors on his team being suspected of white collar crimes, and woah, Derek and Isaac had probably been the ones to figure that out and get them suspended. From there he talked about the numbers in a way that wouldn't make his dad's eyes roll up in his head from boredom.

"So you knew something was wrong almost from the start," he interrupted.

Stiles shifted in the passenger seat, "Well, yeah."

"And you didn't report it?"

There was definite judging going on. Stiles felt judged.

"That's not exactly how it works, Dad," he said with what sounded like a whine. There was no other word for it, he was a grown ass adult and he still couldn't keep from whining when his dad called him out.

"Uh huh," the sheriff said dryly.

"It could have been human error on their side or on mine,” he pointed out. “Plus, I'd just gotten a portion of another guy's stuff and then our second supervisor was canned almost immediately afterward, and then our _third_ supervisor got food poisoning over Thanksgiving and we were kind of in over our heads from the start. I was trying to be thorough before accusing the giant, multi-industry company of cooking their books, okay?"

His dad raised his eyebrows. "Calm down, kid, I'm not saying you didn't do your job-"

"Uh huh," he mimicked.

"-I'm just saying that I don't know if you went about it the safest way possible. So, you knew the numbers were off and wrote it all down," he prompted.

"Yeah, and eventually I made the connection between the Lake Geneva factory in my notebook to the one that had supposedly been shut down like three years ago for some kind of ecological pollution or something. The thing was, the factory I'd been tracking looked like it was up and running, with all of the numbers perfectly balanced as if nothing was wrong at all, when it really wasn't supposed to be operating because of the court order, and it looked like the weird numbers were helping fund this place that shouldn’t have even still existed."

"So you made this discovery and what? Immediately contacted the police?" Because clearly that would have been the most logical thing to do, and what he knew he should have done, having grown up in the house of a law enforcement officer and all.

"Well," Stiles said with a wince.

"Goddamnit Stiles," his dad breathed, "did you at least tell your boyfriend? He’s a cop."

"What? No! Derek isn't my boyfriend," he protested to very obviously deaf ears.

"Uh huh. So?"

Stiles rubbed the back of his neck with one hand and looked out the window at the long stretch of highway in front of them. "I, uh, went for a run to try to work everything out and clear my head a bit. I was pretty sure about things, but didn’t know exactly how I was going to handle the grand reveal. That's when those guys showed up and attacked me."

"I read _that_ police report, too," his dad said darkly. "Would you care to explain why you text me back from your not-boyfriend's phone and not your own in the early hours of the morning after that happened?"

"No," Stiles tried.

The sheriff gave him a look, then shrugged. "Fair enough."

It _was_? Huh.

“So, yeah, then Derek let me take the SUV up to Wisconsin-”

“Don’t bullshit me, kid. What really happened?”

Stiles let out a shocked half-laugh. “Yeah, okay, so Isaac drove me up north in their SUV-”

“What about the rest of them?”

“They had to take care of some things back in Chicago. Oh, Boyd had gone to check it out first and was apparently kidnapped by Gerard Argent, who also had Charlie. Boyd had been tracking them when he was captured.”

“That wasn’t in the report,” his dad pointed out.

Stiles shrugged, “You’re right, it probably wasn’t. So Isaac drove me and then I uh, well I talked to you, as you hopefully remember, and sent my findings to a couple of the people on my team, and uh, then I hotwired the SUV and took off without Isaac.”

“Of course you did,” his dad said evenly.

Which. That wasn’t the reaction he’d been expecting _at all_ , especially since he’d just confessed to having stolen another person’s property. He’d kind of thought his dad would at least yell at him or tell him exactly what laws he’d violated and woah, okay, that probably meant his dad didn’t actually believe him?

“What? Seriously, I called Allison and she told me how and I did it. I used the wire trick where you strip the red wire and the brown one and zap them together to get the engine to rev.”

The sheriff glanced over at him and frowned. “Stiles, if you’d hotwired that vehicle the way you just said, you wouldn’t have been able to turn the steering wheel.”

“Well clearly I did,” he challenged, folding his arms over his chest. “I drove it down the highway before Derek lo-jacked me and killed the engine.”

The sheriff snorted, “He did that to you? Good for him.”

Stiles frowned, “You know, people think you’re a super sweet guy and all, but I know deep down you’re really kind of an asshole.”

“Language,” he replied without any heat. He was grinning, the ass.

“Yeah, well, I certainly come by it honestly so, whatever. So yeah, then I got out and Kate Argent’s thugs rear ended the SUV and then they kidnapped me.”

“Back up, tell me more about this Argent woman. Chris has never really talked about his family, but I seem to remember her from when she and her parents lived here before you were born. She seemed kind of cold back then, like her mother.”

“She was something, alright,” Stiles said as he looked out the window at the passing landscape. It was vastly different from the wintery fields of Wisconsin and the sight filled him with a kind of comfortable nostalgia.

“Stiles? I know there’s more to this than what you’re telling me.”

He heaved a sigh, “Fine, Kate was showing an undue interest in me at work. She made me eat lunch with her in her office a couple of times, and I’m pretty sure she was hitting on me. Also, she was creepy as fuck.”

“You tell Derek?”

He scoffed, “Yeah, and jeopardize my career? No, of course I didn’t tell him. I didn’t tell anyone because that would have been a breach of contract, and grounds for getting me fired.”

Sheriff Stilinski was not impressed.

“Hey, I know you don’t like that I live in Chicago and all, but I do enjoy my job, okay? I’m good at it and it makes me happy.”

“I know, kid, but you’ve got to admit it hasn’t been the safest profession.”

And really, his dad didn’t know the half of it.

“Anyway,” Stiles continued, “I thought there might be a rivalry thing going on between the Hales and the Argents, at least for Kate and Gerard, not Chris or Allison that I know of. Derek told me about his grandparents being killed by Gerard’s wife and then Kate made some weird accusations about her own mom being killed in retaliation back when the Hales lived in Beacon Hills. So, it seemed kind of like a bad blood scenario gone crazy. That was pretty much confirmed with my kidnapping, though I don’t know if that was just Kate wanting me for herself or if she was sticking it to Derek, who is not my boyfriend but might have been at one point but that’s definitely not the case anymore and no I don’t want to talk about it.”

“So she _kidnapped_ you?” his dad asked, though Stiles could tell he wanted to question him about the whole non-boyfriend thing and why that was the case and probably about what he was doing in California all of the sudden, but somehow managed to restrain himself. Stiles admired his restraint, but knew it wouldn’t keep forever.

“Yeah, she was pretty creepy about it, too. Apparently she’d been tracking me with some kind of a device in my jacket-”

His dad glanced at the one he was wearing and raised an inquisitive eyebrow.

“Nope, this one’s Derek’s, I stole it.”

“ _Stiles_ ,” he said, exasperated, but not unfond.

“So yeah, they, Kate and her thugs, took me to the Argent’s Lake Geneva warehouse. The whole place was some kind of ammunition manufacturing plant, it looked like. I don’t know, it was pretty bizarre stuff. Then she took me back to where Charlie and Boyd were chained up and then Gerard showed up and made them like fight to the death or something. It was pretty surreal and I tried to stop them or do something, but then Gerard punched me and Charlie attacked him and he shot Charlie in the head right there in front of me.” And _holy shit_ , he’d watched someone’s brains be splattered across the concrete and had barely even thought about it. Did that make him a bad person? A sociopath? Definitely someone in need of extensive therapy.

His dad’s hand landed on his knee and squeezed. “I’m sorry you had to see that, kid.”

“Yeah, me, too,” he said with conviction. “But anyway, I was kind of disoriented after the whole Gerard thing and Boyd was passed out and then there were these growls and somehow Gerard went down and when I turned to look Kate had a rifle pointed at me and the next thing I knew she was dead with her throat ripped out. I helped Boyd out of there and Derek, Laura, Isaac, and Erica showed up and took us to the Hale’s lake house.”

After taking a few miles to digest that information, the sheriff finally turned to him. “So, that was one version of events, now how about the truth?” he didn’t sound angry, though, just kind of mildly amused at Stiles’ shenanigans.

He was pretty well used to them, Stiles guessed.

But there was also a lot he couldn’t say, right? Well, he couldn’t really get into the whole werewolf mess, but he could maybe talk about his own?

“Okay, but first we’re getting In-N-Out, I haven’t had a real burger in months.”

They got cheeseburgers, and Stiles didn’t even lecture his dad when he got a three by three, probably because he ordered the same thing plus fries and a shake, and it was one of the more satisfying meals he’d had in awhile, in part due to the fact that he was no longer in mortal peril.

Once back on the road, their stomachs full almost to bursting, his dad brought up the whole _now for the real version of events_ thing again and Stiles relented with a sigh.

“So,” he said, not quite knowing where to begin, or even how it would play out with what he’d already told his dad about what went on or whether or not it would make him sound all kinds of crazy, “apparently I’m magical and I was the one who killed Gerard.”

It was a testament to how much shit he’d put his dad through during his relatively short life that the man didn’t even flinch. He just continued to drive, keeping the car in the center of his lane and he was taking it rather well, actually.

“How hard did that guy hit you?” he asked without looking over at Stiles.

Or, you know, maybe not.

“Yeah, so this is why I told you that other story, which is still mostly true, by the way,” Stiles said, folding his arms across his chest in a squeak of leather and glaring out the window.

“So, what? You’re like that Harry Potter kid or something? Or are we talking more like Star Wars? Gandalf? Work with me, here, kid, I’m trying to understand what you’re telling me.”

Stiles couldn’t help it, he laughed and had to use a napkin to dab at the blood that welled up from his reopened scab on his lip. “I don’t know for sure, but that’s why Kate wanted me. She said I’d be useful to her and her dad, or something like that. They gave me this jar of ash, they called it mountain ash, and said it would protect me from being attacked if I believed it would. Charlie was acting really aggressive and tried to go after me, but Boyd stood up for me and I spread the ash in a circle around me and it seemed to work. Then Gerard shot Charlie and came after me and Boyd and I swear I didn’t touch him, but once he got to the barrier he just kind of flew back and hit a metal vat thing and fell to the ground dead.”

“So what really happened to your face if Gerard Argent didn’t hit you?”

He studied his hands for a second, then looked out at California’s mild winter landscape, snow free and still green. “That happened when Kate came in. She was about to shoot me with the rifle and I just, I don’t know, I closed my eyes and _believed_ and then a bolt of lightning came in through the roof and struck somewhere inside the room. When I opened my eyes I was on the floor and my face hurt. Kate and the rest were dead and Boyd and I were okay.”

His dad nodded, but didn’t comment as they drove toward Beacon Hills.


	2. Chapter 2

 

“Hey, what? Where are we going? Home’s that way,” Stiles said, pointing in the opposite direction from where they were turning and, oh.

“Dad,” he whined. “The hospital? Seriously? This isn’t like the times with the roofs, okay, I’m not crazy. This isn’t me hallucinating or imagining I can fly, it’s me actually having done something pretty awesome and not getting too injured in the process.”

“I don’t want to hear it, kid, you were shot at, apparently _struck by lightening_ , and then blacked out. That’s grounds for going to the hospital. I can’t _believe_ the Hales didn’t take you. What were they _thinking_?”

Stiles let out a frustrated noise. “Dad, I told you it was a magic thing! I mean, yeah, afterward I pretty much passed out for a half a day and apparently my heart rate and temperature got really low, so I had to do some weird magical healing thing that I don’t want to talk about, but I’m better now!”

“Your-” his dad turned and glanced at him with incredulous expression, “Jesus, Stiles, are you _insane_? You almost _died_. Several times. And you expect me to just _let it go_?”

“No, Dad, I expect you to believe me!” he shouted.

His dad pulled the car into the hospital parking lot and parked, then gripped the steering wheel and stared at the building in front of them. “Stiles,” he said quietly, then turned to look at him with a tender, but stubborn sort of expression, “I do believe you, and I know your mother would have, too. She was always talking about things like that, herbs and magic and unseen forces and I loved her for it even though I barely understood what she was going on about half the time. But we’re going to march in there and make sure you’re okay. I know,” he said, holding up his hand, “you say you’re fine, but _I_ don’t know that, so we’re doing it anyway, and I’d appreciate it if you'd stop fighting me on this.”

Stiles kind of stared at him for a second, brain struggling to process the information he’d received. “Mom was in a couple of my dreams, recently,” he said with a kind of softness. “I think it was a magic thing. She uh, she told me to stop lying.”

Surprisingly, his dad laughed. “Leave it to Anya to do something like that. Stiles, you know I love you, kid, but I’m worried about you. So come on, let’s see if Melissa is working, maybe she can squeeze you in for a check-up.”

“Oh, yeah, uh. So, about the cuts and stuff from me being shot at by those other guys. Um, they’re not there anymore.”

His dad just kind of looked at him. “Another magic thing? It doesn’t matter, come on. You know she’s going to see that bruise on your face and want to know what happened, so let’s settle for a happy medium between struck by lightening and punched by a geriatric megalomaniac.”

“Har har, you’re hilarious,” Stiles said as he got out of the car. “So suddenly you don’t want me to tell her about me being zapped?”

He got a look from the sheriff. “I want to know that you’re alright, kid, but I don’t think we need to go around telling everyone you’ve inherited your mother’s penchant for blowing out electrical circuits, do you?”

“Hey, I resent that, I’ve never done anything of the kind, but actually that kind of makes sense with the hotwiring thing, doesn’t it?” he asked as they walked together toward the doors. “I mean, maybe that’s why it worked when it maybe shouldn’t have.”

“I didn’t hear that,” his dad said, “I know nothing of you breaking any laws and that Hale boy better not press charges, either, though he has every right to.”

Stiles scoffed, “Yeah, right, there’s no way in hell Derek’s going to go after me for that.” Talia probably wouldn’t take kindly to it and Derek had done shittier things to Stiles than commit mere theft. Not that he was going to tell his dad about the tracking and the phone hacking and the hidden camera and the general creeping even without all the werewolfiness to add to it. That would have definitely put Derek on the sheriff's shit list in a major way and for some reason Stiles wasn’t quite willing to do that to the guy, though he honestly had no clue why not.

“But you think he’ll go after you for something else? Like petty theft?” his dad replied, eyeing the jacket Stiles had neglected to take off despite the refreshingly temperate climate.

“I had a rough few days, leave me alone,” Stiles said and his dad just rolled his eyes.

  
  


It turned out that Melissa _was_ working. She took one look at him, her eyes zeroing in on his bruised cheek and the mostly concealed hickies before she kind of started, like she’d just realized it was pretty weird for Stiles to be there at all and then she was wrapping him in a tight hug.

“Oh, you stupid kid you’ve been driving everyone crazy! Please tell me you talked to my son after you called him this morning. He was frantic about you possibly missing John at the airport.”

When she pulled away Stiles made a _whoops, no_ face and it kind of looked like she was going to bap him upside the head, but refrained from doing so probably because she was supposed to be a professional and was currently in her place of work.

She narrowed her eyes and shook her head, then sighed. “I’ll see how soon I can fit you in, go sit, call my son, and fill out these forms. Sheriff, always good to see you,” she said, motherly anger abruptly shifting to something warm and ew _no_ , Stiles did _not_ need to be part of that conversation so he excused himself and went to the waiting area to fill out the paperwork like she’d told him. When that was done he checked his phone and saw that it was well and truly dead, so calling Scott wasn’t really an option despite the fact that he probably should have done so long before being reminded, but he’d really been focusing on anything other things like telling his dad about the Argents and all of that during their drive, so he forgave himself and hoped Scott would be as understanding.

After turning in the paperwork and insurance stuff he found his dad standing by the door with the phone to his ear and a pensive expression on his face. Stiles knew that probably meant it was a work-related call, so he wandered back to the waiting area and sat down, suddenly remembering how the last time he’d done that Charlie was in surgery after being nearly killed in an assault. And that actually hadn’t been Stiles’ fault, he realized. Charlie had been mixed up in bad things long before he’d came into the picture and apparently the guy had wanted to be a werewolf? _That_ had been his endgame? It seemed a bit surreal, actually, especially since the Argents had been able to make that happen, though it hadn’t served the man very well in the end.

_Yeah, because he was dead,_ Stiles’ asshole brain reminded him.

Because Gerard had shot him in the head and then attacked Stiles and gotten himself killed in the process.

Because Stiles’ life was suddenly borrowing plot points from a shitty supernatural tv drama, or something. He wasn’t really sure and didn’t actually know what he was hoping to accomplish by going home except maybe to get answers about his own magical capabilities and get away from the drama with Derek and the Argents and also to curl up in his childhood bed and hide under the superhero sheets for a while.

And then he was being called, by _Stiles_ , thankfully, and not his horrible legal name. The nurse, not Melissa, showed him back to a room and he waved to his dad on the way, who looked apologetic, but stayed where he was, having his intense phone conversation.

They did the standard vitals thing and a question and answer session, which Stiles didn’t even have to lie much during. He told the nurse about his face, which led the guy to give him a wet paper towel so he could wipe off the makeup, and about his maybe blackout that had directly preceded it. The nurse also inspected his wrists and ankles where the handcuffs had been, though there were only very faint marks from those, but he thankfully didn’t seem to know about the other injuries because he didn’t ask to see them.

Melissa breezed in after the guy had finished taking notes in the computer and went in search of the attending physician or maybe to get coffee or something. Stiles nearly choked when he saw that she was carrying a basket of un-fun-looking needles and blood collection vials.

“Nope,” he said, shaking his head. “Do not want. Can we please not do that? You know how I am around blood and needles. I really don’t want to puke on you, do you want me to puke on you? Let’s skip this part and go get ice cream, instead. You like ice cream. Come on, my treat.”

She was not sympathetic to his plight, and _someone_ wasn’t getting ice cream.

“Give me your arm and stop whining,” she said, and because Stiles wasn’t actually a petulant child he did as she’d told him, shrugging out of Derek’s jacket and sweater, then holding out his left arm for her to poke at with her fingers to find the vein before the horrible main event. There was a brief electrical shock when she first touched him, but she just kept going, prodding as he grumbled under his breath about evil vampire ladies and how only nice nurses got ice cream. Stiles felt strangely naked and exposed without the layers on and a part of him kind of wished Derek was there to hold his hand and that wasn’t a very helpful or constructive thought at all, but it was stupidly true.

His dad walked in as Melissa was getting the needle ready, his phone held out like it was for Stiles and what?

“I know we’re not supposed to use these in here, but the guy’s kind of insistent.” He gave Stiles a look; amusement tinged with exasperation? Well, it certainly wasn’t the first time he’d evoked that particular combination of emotions in his parent.

Stiles took the phone with his right hand and held it to his ear. “Hello?” he said, like he didn’t know exactly who was calling for him on his dad's phone.

“ _Stiles_ ,” Derek breathed, relief and worry and hope and hurt all packed into that single word and it made his pulse jump and his palms sweat.

“Uh, hi Derek,” he said slowly, kind of not wanting to have that conversation with an audience, but since he didn’t have a choice he tried to act as casual as he possibly could. Both Melissa and his dad were looking at him expectantly, clearly trying to gauge his reaction to the phone call and that wasn’t helping his nerves _at all_.

“Your heartbeat is erratic and now I can hear sounds like you’re in a hospital. Are you okay?” he asked, like that was the most important thing. Not inquiring about why Stiles had left him to begin with, or why he was suddenly in California, or where the hybrid was, or how come he took Derek’s leather jacket, just wanting to ensure Stiles was safe. But the thing was, Stiles was experiencing a bit too much cognitive dissonance for him to know how he truly felt about the whole situation, so he just kind of answered as honestly as he was able.

“Um, about to get my blood drawn, actually, so I might have to pause our conversation to throw up.” He eyed the trashcan that was sitting across the room and considered how quickly he could get to it if that became necessary. Which, going by his past experiences with needles, was a definite possibility.

“Just breath,” Derek said. “Is there a reason you’re getting blood drawn? Are you still feeling weak? Have you experienced any other side effects from the casting?”

“Oh no, I’m fine, just feeling a bit overprotected at the moment, actually,” he said with a pointed look at Melissa, who took out an alcohol swab and rubbed it on his arm and did not seem very impressed with him.

“Okay, Stiles,” she said, “If you’re going to vomit, don’t get any on me. There’s a bag beside you.”

And hey, there was, but he had the phone in that hand and was debating which one he should hold onto when he felt the needle jab into him and swore as dark stars dotted his vision.

“Stiles,” Derek’s voice said, cutting through the sudden pain and the thundering of his pulse, “I need you to breath with me. You’re going to be fine. Deep breath in, and out. Come on. In and out. That’s right. Again. In and out. You’re doing great, Stiles.”

Miracle of miracles, he didn’t throw up, not even after Melissa took three vials of his blood. As a reward she gave him a Batman band-aid and patted him on his uninjured cheek. “I would give you a sucker, but they don’t let us do that, anymore. It’s a bummer, I know, I used to eat those things all the time when we had them.”

His dad followed her out the door, with another pointed look at him, and Stiles was left alone with Derek and suddenly that was ten times more awkward than it had been when the other two had been in the room with him.

“So, uh, thanks?” he said, not really knowing what else to say.

Derek was quiet for a second before he sighed. “Do you have a thing for stealing people’s cars, or just mine?” he asked and Stiles had to smile.

“Oh, no, that’s just you. I figure you know where it is, though, and you probably know where I am, too.”

“The airport in Madison and I'm guessing the Beacon Hills Memorial Hospital.”

"Yeah," Stiles said, trailing off and feeling incredibly awkward. He'd never been very good at the whole breakup portion of relationships. Most of the time he'd let his significant other call it quits even when they’d been on the rocks for weeks or months, figuring there would be less drama that way. Except for the whole Cassandra thing. Well, the courts had pretty much demanded an end to that one, which he hadn’t had a problem with at all. Not that he and Derek had broken up, since they hadn't actually been together in the first place. Right? Stiles actually wasn't entirely certain about that.

"They want to know why you left," Derek said softly. "I realized it at some point during the night, but I couldn't get out to find you. The only thing that kept me from going for the door was the knowledge that your heart rate remained steady, and I knew that you couldn't be in imminent danger if that was the case."

Stiles swallowed at the thought of Derek in his wolf form trying to force open the heavily spiked door, blood slicking his fur from him repeatedly slamming against it and that wasn't an image he wanted in his head. He closed his eyes and breathed, reminding himself that they were both fine, and that the others were as well. Probably?

"How was it last night? Is everyone okay?"

"They're fine, Stiles," Derek said, very obviously leaving himself out of that assessment of general wellness.

And that made sense.

“You got my letter?” he asked because he didn’t know what else to say.

There was a pause where all he could hear was Derek’s breathing and it would have been so easy to get lost in it, but then the other man spoke. “Yes,” he said with a quiet kind of calm. “I read your letter, Stiles.”

_And?_

But he couldn’t just ask that. It wasn’t fair to Derek to demand his reaction to it, nor was Stiles entirely prepared for whatever that might be. For a moment he felt a chill, like the icy Wisconsin breeze, but then it went away and he scrubbed his free hand over his eyes, wincing at the slight twinge from the puncture wound.

"Okay," he said instead of something he'd regret, like that he inexplicably missed the big stupid werewolf, or that he wasn't sure what he was supposed to do with the knowledge that they were supposedly mates and the man could hear his heartbeat from across the country. "I guess I'll talk to you later?" Which was a stupid thing to say. Stiles had done breakups before and leaving their avenues of communication open like that was poor post-relationship etiquette. It allowed for false hopes and Stiles wasn't even sure what was going on in his life, anymore.

"Will you have your phone?" Derek asked, "I don't believe your father was entirely thrilled to receive a call from my mother, and he certainly didn’t seem to want to talk to me."

"Your- where are you?" Stiles asked, baffled.

There was a sound of movement and Stiles could imagine Derek pacing as they talked, probably in one of the soundproofed rooms so Laura and the rest wouldn’t be able to listen in on their conversation. Hopefully he’d chosen the study and not the basement because Stiles hated the idea of him being trapped down there all alone. "We're at my mother's house," Derek said. "We drove up as soon as we were able to this morning."

And Stiles hadn't expected that, actually. A part of him had thought Derek would have taken the next flight to California, but that was actually a pretty arrogant thing to think so he made an inquisitive noise instead of embarrassing himself by mentioning it.

"It's custom to speak to her when we get out of containment after a full moon, and as soon as she heard you'd left she commanded us to come home."

The whole _commanded_ thing was a part of the werewolf alpha, beta dynamic he hadn't heard much about, but that type of language made it sounded like they hadn't had much of a choice in the matter.

"Did I get you in trouble?" he asked, curious, but not all that contrite.

Derek breathed a laugh that didn't sound terribly amused. "No, Stiles, you didn’t get me in trouble, I did that all on my own."

And that was actually pretty mature of him, taking ownership for his actions-

"I have to go,” Derek said with audible reluctance, “Mother is having me run one mile for every hour you've been gone. If you need me while I'm out please let her know, I'll hear her howl and turn back. I’ll be in my wolf form, otherwise I would take my phone with me."

And _Jesus Christ_ , that was how Talia was handling the situation? That was pretty, well, extreme, really. "Wait," he said,  doing the math, "what are the start and end points? Is it every hour starting when I left, which was about six last night, to when I landed in LAX? Because that's like sixteen hours, well, miles for you."

"No, the clock's ongoing, Stiles."

_Ongoing?_ Meaning each additional hour was another mile and-

"Holy shit, Derek, that's crazy. You can't do that, you'll be running forever."

Derek made a noise of agreement. "Or until Mother believes I've learned my lesson."

_Which was?_ But Stiles didn't ask that, either.

He almost bit his lip, but instead put a finger to his neck and pressed until he felt the pleasant reminder of their one erotic night. "Will you call me whenever that happens?" he asked quietly, like if he spoke up it would expose them to the harsh light of reality and the fact that they weren’t really a thing.

"I'd like that," Derek replied with the same delicate tone.

"Bye, Derek."

"I'll speak to you soon, Stiles."

 

After he saw the attending physician, who shined a light in his eyes and basically said _whatever dude you look fine_ , in doctor talk, the nurse from before came in with instructions on bruise care and a pamphlet about domestic violence which Stiles appreciated, but really didn’t need. He certainly could have used it when he’d dated Cassandra, but didn’t currently since he wasn’t actually in a relationship anymore and even if he was there was no chance Derek would have abused him. Physically.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just got the $1000 bill for my trip to urgent care from about a month ago (I was posting C&C, then started SoS at the time). Apparently being severely vomity and dehydrated with a stomach bug is super expensive in America (even with health insurance). It only cost me $5 when I had to go through the same thing in Taiwan (though I was on a gurney in the middle of the waiting room for five hours surrounded by ancient old ladies instead of in a nice private room for three). Socialized medicine, you guys, it's a beautiful thing (also that was a super creepy experience so maybe not?). Whatever, not debating it here, but yeah, so Stiles' little trip to the ER is modeled on my recent (EXPENSIVE) experience! Yay for live lessons!
> 
> Thanks to Joan and SilverSilk who came up with the idea "Downward Dog" for the title! You both rock!


	3. Chapter 3

His dad was waiting for him by the front desk, pretty obviously flirting with Melissa, so that was a thing. At least Stiles had had some warning about it, though, he wasn’t sure he would have been able to handle it, otherwise, not on top of the rest of the crap going on in his life. Not that he had a problem with it or anything, he thought they both should move on and there was a pretty solid foundation of friendship to work off of, so that was good. But Stiles just wasn’t entirely comfortable knowing all the details of their relationship.

That was just. No.

The sheriff took his phone back without a word, though he had a judgemental look on his face that could rival the Hales. Stiles said his goodbyes to Melissa, and got another hug from her along with a threatening-sounding command to call Scott soon or _else_. After that they finally made it out the door and left to go home.

Stiles read through the print-out the nurse had given him on their drive through Beacon Hills, telling his dad the more amusing parts. “It says I have to elevate the bruise, which is on my face, so that really won’t be a problem, and apply something cold to the area, get this, like a spoon. How is that even an option? Who goes; _oh, I know, that guy has a massive purple welt, let’s put a cold spoon on it_!”

"Oh, yeah, the spoon trick," his dad said casually, pulling into the achingly familiar driveway of Stiles' childhood home.

And _what_?

"There are some in the freezer already, just be sure you replace whatever you take out."

Stiles side-eyed his dad, kind of confused at that admission. "Uh, why do you keep spoons in the freezer? You been playing a lot of paintball at Chris’ place or something? Get a lot of bruises you need to take care of?"

The sheriff gave him a look. It was his _don't mess with me kid_ look, and Stiles had actually been asking some  legitimate questions so he didn't appreciate the attitude.

"Seriously," he insisted, kind of impressed by how petulant he managed to sound around his dad even though he was an actual adult and no longer a child. Some things never changed, apparently.

"Stiles, I'm a grown man, I can keep spoons in my freezer if I want to,” he said with obvious exasperation as he cut the engine.

"But," Stiles started to protest before he caught a glimpse of what looked like a faint mark of discoloration on the skin of his father’s neck just at the edge of his shirt collar. "Oh my god is that what I think it is?” he said in bewilderment and tried to lean over to get a better look, but then his dad’s hand was on his face, mindful of the bruise, but pushing him back to keep him on his side of the car as he flailed indignantly with a loud squawk.

“Really, Stiles? Like you’re anyone to judge. Nice try with the makeup, but I see those hickies all over your neck, and don’t even think I’m just going to ignore the fact that your _friend_ had his mother call me to check in on you.”

Stiles finally sat back and unbuckled his seatbelt with a defeated sigh. “Okay, ya got me there, but I didn’t even know him going to see Talia was on the agenda, let alone the fact that he’d have her call you. And as for the other thing I will be sure to replace the spoons I use and let’s never talk about that ever again.”

The sheriff emphatically agreed.

They were at the front door when the whole phone thing came back to Stiles and he narrowed his eyes at his dad. “Hey, were you talking to her the whole time I was in the waiting room? Was that who you were on the phone with?” It kind of made sense, he guessed. It wasn’t as if talking to the Hales was on his dad’s list of _fun things that would evoke a smile and a laugh_. He’d seemed way more serious than that, which had made Stiles think it was a work-related call instead of a casual one. Also, it wasn’t as if the sheriff really chatted with many people on the phone, so that had already narrowed the pool quite a bit.

His dad unlocked the door and ushered him inside. “Talia and I never really spoke much when the Hales lived here, but your mother considered her a dear friend.”

Which didn’t answer his question.

"And?" Stiles prompted.

The sheriff dropped his soft sided leather bag by their kicked-off shoes just inside the door and went straight for the couch. “And we had a lot to catch up on, Stiles. She offered her condolences, asked if she could do anything for us, just some general conversation topics you’d expect from people who haven’t been in touch for nearly two decades." But he said it all so dismissively it made Stiles suspicious.

"You guys totally talked about me and Derek, didn't you?"

“It’s a possibility,” the sheriff said as he picked up the previous day's paper, which he'd clearly already read and opened it up so Stiles couldn't see his face from where he was standing.

"That's super mature, Dad, just so you know. I’m stunned by how utterly loquacious you are right now."

"Not sure what you want me to say, kid, sounds like you and Derek have made quite a mess for yourselves. Doesn’t really seem like something I need to get involved in, but if you want to talk about it you know where to find me."

Which was pretty sweet, actually, though kind of unexpected after the whole Cassandra thing and his dad’s awkward meddling during Thanksgiving, which could have been chalked up to his natural parental fear for his child’s safety, though Stiles hadn’t forgotten Chris Argent’s role in stirring the pot, either. But taking that into account, it was kind of odd for his dad to give up the chase so easily when he’d been pretty adamant about his suspicion of the Hales. Not to mention the fact that Stiles had Hale-related injuries on his body at that moment in time, which he’d never known his dad to just dismiss before. Well, technically they were magic and Argent-related, but still, the Hales had also been involved.

_Huh_.

But whatever, Stiles was going to take what he could get. "Did Talia tell you Derek’s grounded?" he asked with a wry smile. Which, sure, it was shitty of him to find Derek's plight amusing, but he'd never claimed to be a saint, or even that great of a person, really. Stiles was well aware of the fact that he was an asshole.

The newspaper lowered enough for them to see each other's eyes. "I thought this guy was older than you."

"By about five years," Stiles agreed.

His dad just kind of looked at him for a second, then glanced down at the paper. "He the one who gave you that bruise?"

Stiles let out an explosive breath, "Jesus, Dad, I already explained that! No, Derek didn't hit me! Now will you please tell me what Talia said?"

"Nope."

_Typical_.

"Fine, I'm putting my stuff in my room, and then I'm probably going to cry into my pillow because you're a terrible person."

He stalked to the stairs followed by his dad's yelled, "Good to have you home, kid!"

  
  


Stiles plugged in his phone right away, thankful that his old charger was right where he’d accidentally left it on his nightstand back when he’d briefly lived at home between graduating from college and moving to Chicago. He set up his laptop, too, but didn’t power it on, too wrapped up in checking out his old digs and avoiding reality. Not that it had been that long since he’d last been there, but it kind of felt like it after the past month of new and terrifying events.

He stripped off the borrowed clothes, smirking at how the pants basically fell off of him they were so big, but they hugged Derek’s ass with a painted-on level of snugness. He dumped the mountain ash into a jar he’d used to keep loose change in, tucking it back behind some comics on his bookcase. Stiles picked up the discarded jeans, sweater and shirt and threw them in his laundry basket, which, ew, still had some dirty clothes in it. That was just gross, he was kind of disgusted with himself. Not that he made a move to go wash his laundry, but still.

He stretched up onto his toes and surveyed the room that held so many memories it was a bit of a mental overload for a minute. The posters he and Scott had put up after he’d stripped off the anime snowboarder he’d won at a carnival when he was a kid and had actually kind of permanently adhered to the wall so there was a giant strip of paint missing and he’d never had the balls to tell his dad about it. So yeah, that’s where the random posters had come into the equation. He wasn’t even sure if he had any of those band’s albums. There was the desk chair where he’d masurbated furiously to both gay and straight porn ever since he’d first discovered what his dick was for, he bed where he’d had his first of many wet dreams, the spot in his headboard where he’d always stashed his lube for some extra fun during his self-loving, the- well, most of his memories were of a sexual nature, actually, and reliving them was a fun thought, but not one he was willing to go through with while his dad was downstairs and when Stiles was hesitant to go online for fear of the wrath of Scott.

Thinking of his best friend, Stiles sat on the edge of his bed, not dwelling on all of the solo fun times he’d had there, and saw that there was enough of a charge on his phone to check his messages.

There were over a dozen voicemails, easily twice that number of texts, and three e-mails. Half were from Scott and his dad while the others were split between Allison, Derek, Laura, Erica, and a few unknown numbers he assumed belonged to other members of the Hale family. Pack. Whatever.

“Oh, goody,” he muttered, and sent a text to his friend telling him that he was in Beacon Hills, but wasn’t able to talk at the moment and would call him later. Scott was a good enough guy that he wouldn’t push it, but Stiles definitely had some sucking up to do. He made a mental note to whip up a batch of cookies or something for him in recompense.

He sent a similar message to Laura, telling her to spread the word that he was fine, even though Talia clearly knew that. Stiles wasn’t sure how he was going to handle any kind of a conversation with her or Erica, since he figured they’d be pissed at him for bailing on them and running away like a wuss. Not that he regretted it. He knew he’d made the right decision, but they deserved some kind of an explanation, and it didn’t sound like Derek had wanted to share the pretty personal contents of the letter Stiles had written him.

The e-mails were from Luanne and Andrews and one of the higher-ups and that kind of made Stiles’ flinch. He sighed, putting his phone down and going to his computer to read and reply to the there, instead. He booted it up and avoided logging onto anything except his secured e-mail account, biting his nails as he read through Luanne’s message first. She was worried about him, had heard something about the assault, he assumed she was referring to the first one, and hoped he was safe. Andrews thanked him for the report and promised to pass it on to those in charge once he’d reviewed the findings, and also wished him the best given the situation.

Apparently he had done as he’d said because the head of their department was the one who’d sent the third e-mail. Senior Auditor Augustine Hashimoto had read through Stiles’ numbers and compared them to errors others from his team had reported and agreed that the account showed many inconsistencies that indicated possible fraud. He thanked Stiles for his candor and wished him a speedy recovery.

So apparently they all knew something about what had transpired, which wasn’t surprising since there were two police reports listing him as a victim of violence, not to mention the fact that one such instance involved the Argents, who were _dead_. Stiles licked across the scab on his bottom lip, it didn’t seem nearly as bad as it had been before, and replied to all three e-mails as professionally and succinctly as he could, asking Mr. Hashimoto for some time off if that was possible since he’d gone to California to visit his father and recover while thanking all of them for their understanding responses.

And that. That was actually a gigantic relief, knowing that he wasn’t fired outright for reporting his findings, or for being roped into the disastrous mess that had resulted from Kate’s awkwardly aggressive advances and the Argent’s bizarre blood feud with the Hales and not for the first time Stiles wondered what Chris’ connection was with the whole thing. He knew the man had been estranged from his father and sister, but with them dead did that mean he’d inherit the company? Would he seek out the Hales for vengeance or _holy shit_ was he a _werewolf hunter_ as well? That was certainly a thought and Stiles vowed to stay as far away from the man as he possibly could during his stay in Beacon Hills because he did not need any more complications in his life. He was there to look after his dad and to recover and to try to forget about the feeling of Derek’s stubble as it scraped across the sensitive skin on his inner thighs and nope. Stiles was done thinking things.

He was tempted to just continue to putter around online, but he was finally _home_ , so he slipped on some loose sweatpants and an old Spider-Man shirt and tromped downstairs to hang out with his dad and possibly show off some yoga moves, if the mood struck him. He’d found it wasn’t quite as fun without Derek, but that was neither here nor there.

  
  


    Stiles was lounging in the sofa chair watching some sitcom re-run when the phone in the hall rang. He quickly jumped up and skirted past where his dad was dozing on the couch to get to it first, more out of habit than actual desire to talk to anyone who would use their landline. The list pretty much began and ended with telemarketers, with the occasional police-related incident that Stiles had always loved to eavesdrop on, though he usually waited for his dad to take the call in the office before he picked up the hall phone to listen in on what was happening.

“Y’ello,” he said, disregarding the phone etiquette his dad had tried to drill into him as a kid. Whatever, he was an adult, he could do what he wanted.

“Stiles,” Melissa said, sounding worried and that wasn’t ever a good sign, “Your blood panels came back and there were some unusual results.”

For a dizzying instant it was like he was seven years old again and his mother was sitting him down to explain how her blood wasn’t doing what it was supposed to and she’d have to go to the hospital so the doctors could help her sort it out. She’d been drinking a cup of bitter smelling tea, a sad look in her amber-colored eyes, but he hadn’t even paid all that much attention because there were cookies cooling on the rack and Scott was on his way over with Melissa so she could take them swimming or to the park or something. Only that time he knew exactly what the consequences could be and the endless rounds of drugs and pain and weakness and sorrow that followed.

“What do you mean, _unusual results_?” he asked and he didn’t even need to look back to know his dad was already up and walking toward him with his patented concerned look that always made Stiles’ gut twist, but he wasn’t sure he could feel any more frightened than he already was. While the disease that had killed his mother was rare, there was a slight possibility of it being heritable and Stiles had to grip the wall to keep his knees from buckling under the pressure of that sudden remembered fact.

In the distance he could hear his phone where it was rigging in his bedroom and after a moment his dad's cell would probably ring, too, but he had to concentrate and listen to what Melissa was telling him instead of thinking about how the Hales were doing the crazy stalker routine Derek was so well-known for. She was going on about his white blood cell count and-

“Am I sick?” he interrupted, hearing the unmasked panic in his own voice.

Melissa paused and his dad’s hand came up to rest on his shoulder, squeezing it in silent comfort. “ _Sick?_ No, Stiles, that’s what I’m trying to tell you. You’re _extremely healthy_. That’s what’s so unusual about your blood panel. It’s the cleanest, most perfectly balanced results the lab technicians and attending physician have ever seen. All of your scores are exactly where they should be, that’s what’s so bizarre. No one has blood work like this, not outside of a textbook.”

He laughed slightly manically in stunned relief. “Oh my god, Melissa, it’s a good thing you said that because I thought I was about to have a heart attack right now.” He pried his fingers off the wall and reached around blindly to wrap his arm around his dad’s shoulders, sagging slightly against the other man as a stunned kind of joy flowed through him. “There are way worse things to have going on than super-healthiness, right?”

She agreed and told him to take care and behave himself before she hung up. Stiles dropped the phone onto the receiver and turned to wrap his dad in a tight hug. “I’m perfectly fine,” he said, knowing they both needed to hear it. “That’s actually a completely accurate statement, too. Melissa said my panels came back textbook perfect.”

His dad squeezed him around the ribs in a familiar and welcome way that made Stiles just want to cry in relief and then he sighed deeply. “The death of me, kid, I swear,” he said with obvious tired fondness.

Stiles laughed and pulled away with a grin, “Come on, I’ll make a celebratory dinner and then we’re getting you back on a healthy diet. Don’t think I’m unaware of the crap you try to sneak while I’m gone, I’ve got informants, I know what’s up.”

He groaned in response, but Stiles knew he secretly liked it when his son meddled, it gave him something to bitch about. Plus, keeping his dad healthy was pretty much one of the most important things he had going on in his life besides keeping his own ass alive, apparently, and that no longer seemed to be quite as dangerous a task. And hey, maybe Stiles would show him some of the easier yoga moves Erica had taught him. That would give his dad even more reasons to call and whine at him. Stiles smirked as he made his way to the kitchen, already starting to formulate a plan to get Melissa to help him with the yoga stuff.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter gave me so many feels.
> 
> I'm at ravingrevolution.tumblr.com if you want to stalk by!


	4. Chapter 4

His dad’s phone didn’t ring after Stiles’ freak-out false alarm, at least not that he heard, and he didn’t bother to go upstairs to get his own because apparently the crisis was averted? It was weird knowing that Derek could actively hear his heartbeat from two thousand miles away. But he’d said he was going to be in wolf form with no cell phone, so maybe he’d howled out a warning or something to another person in the pack and they’d been the one to call for him?

Maybe?

Whatever, it didn’t matter. Stiles was perfectly fine. Literally. And had just finished laying out a hearty dinner was the table complete with knives and forks and napkins just like they lived like real people, which was a bit of a rarity for the Stilinski men.

Stiles had just sat down and was about to shovel some of the delicious-smelling food into his mouth when his dad spoke.

“So, what’s your anchor?” he said, as casually as that.

Stiles blinked at him, trying to figure out how the man could have been replaced by a pod person in the hours since they’d been home, but neither had really let the other out of their sight for more than a few minutes so that meant that he _knew about anchors_? Because?

“ _How the hell_ do you know about that, anyway? We haven’t talked about this before, have we? I’m confused by this unexpected demonstration of magical knowledge that I myself didn’t even know about until like, two days ago.”

His dad shook his head and cut into one of the egg-sized meatballs Stiles had made using his mom’s old recipe that had scattered notes in neat cyrillic print along the edges of the index card and old sauce stains on the bottom. They’d turned out pretty good, actually, even if he hadn’t been able to add all the spices she’d listed because neither of the Stilinskis had ever been that great at replacing them when they’d ran out over the years, and the two of them never took up gardening to grow their own like his mother had.

“Anya’s was laughter,” he said casually, like this was a totally normal conversation and not talking about Stiles’ dead mother’s magical grounding methods. “She explained it in nautical terms, that’s why she called it her anchor. Said that she was like a ship at sea, and sometimes the waves and wind would buffett her hull without her being able to control the direction or orientation of her vessel, which was pretty much how life works, but other times she was able to grab ahold of the wheel and lower the sails to catch the breeze when it blew just so. That was when she could use her magic. It was little things like helping heal your bruises,” his dad nodded to Stiles’ face, “or making the garden grow despite it being a dry year, but sometimes the breeze turned into a gail and her sails were in danger of tearing, so she’d use her anchor and ride out the storm without suffering any lasting damage.”

“Laughter?” Stiles asked, his fork and knife forgotten in his hands as he thought back to his childhood and suddenly saw it in a whole new light; the lines around his mom’s mouth and eyes and the half-remembered sound of her delighted laughter that had seemed to always echo through the house. Actually, he only had a few brief memories of his mother when she wasn’t exuding happiness and he gave his dad a bittersweet smile. “That makes a lot of sense, actually.”

The sheriff didn’t let his own question slide though. “Yours?” he said expectantly as he took another bite.

Stiles shifted uncomfortably and stared at his plate, suddenly not all that hungry. “What else do you know about anchors?”

Surprisingly, his dad played along. “I know it kept Anya, how can I put this? Balanced? She had some moments when I knew things weren’t going well for her. She’d stay in bed all day or just wander around listlessly while the flowers outside wilted in the sunlight, but then you came along and I’ve never seen anyone as happy as the two of you when you were together. We had the best garden in the neighborhood back then.”

Stiles swallowed thickly. It was rare that his dad talked about his mom, rarer still when he was sober, and he hung on every word. “I remember feeling like the house was always full of sunshine when she was around,” he said. “It was like the whole place was alive.”

“That was Anya and her magic,” his dad agreed.

Stiles set his knife and fork down, working himself up to just say it, to tell his dad the truth about his own anchor, and then sort through the consequences of the confession.

Which was when the landline rang again.

“I’ve got it,” his dad said, pushing back his chair to rise and patting Stiles on the shoulder as he walked past him into the hall.

Stiles was left sitting in silence, tuning out the sound of his dad taking what was definitely a work call from the tone of his voice. He hadn’t really expected the whole magic thing to go over as well as it had, though it made sense since his mom apparently hadn’t been all that secretive about it. The fact that her anchor was laughter added a fresh kind of connection between them that Stiles delighted in discovering.

He picked at his food out of habit, but wasn’t really hungry. His dad hung up and walked into the room, a familiar guilty look on his face.

“I know, I know, you have to work,” Stiles forestalled him. “Don’t worry about it, Dad, I’m a grown-up, I can entertain myself. Actually, I should really talk to Scott, I don’t think he appreciated the twenty second long call from this morning and then the follow-up text. And I’m going grocery shopping at some point because the state of your fridge is tragic.”

The sheriff smiled wryly, “I’m sure talking to Scott will be fun. Make sure your phone is charged and with you and keep me posted when you go out. I left my squad car at the station, so you won’t have a vehicle unless you want to try the old jeep. It’s in the garage, but I don’t know how well it’ll work after sitting there for so long. I made sure to crank it every week or two, but I’m sure it’ll need some work done before it’s in decent enough condition to drive around town.”

Stiles grinned, “I can’t believe you kept Betty.”

“Well you about cried when I mentioned selling the damn thing, so I expect you to take care of it while you’re here. Fix it or sell it or whatever you want to do, just get it out of the garage so I can put my car in there for once.”

“Yes, sir!” Stiles said with a sloppy salute.

“Smartass,” his dad said with a smile as he grabbed his jacket from the back of his chair and went further into the house. Probably to the office to get his service gun from where he kept it in the safe.

Stiles cleared the table and packed the leftovers while his dad puttered around getting ready for what was probably going to be a long shift judging by the reluctance with which he moved.

“Here,” Stiles said, handing him a plastic bag with several plastic containers full of various healthy-ish snack foods along with two servings of spaghetti and meatballs, “Don’t want you having to order anything from the diner across the street from the station.” He gave his dad a knowing look.

The sheriff rolled his eyes as he took the bag. “Alright, alright, I got it.”

“Mhm, and tell Sal I’m onto him and that his enabling is at an end. No more apple pie and chocolate shakes for you, buddy.”

“Meddlesome kid,” his dad muttered with a smile as he went to the front door and put on his work shoes, snatching up his bag and coat. “Keep in touch,” he called over his shoulder, “I’ll probably see you tomorrow.”

“Be safe,” Stiles called after him, never without his heart in his throat, even after years of saying those exact same words. At some point it had become a bit of a ritual for him, or a good luck charm, and his dad had always come home in one piece, so he wasn’t about to stop. Because maybe if he believed it hard enough it would stay true.

  
  


Stiles finished cleaning up dinner and made his way up the dark staircase to his room and logged into all the various social media platforms he’d been neglecting. There were dozens of messages, both private and public, enquiring about his wellbeing because apparently someone had connected the dots between him and one or more of the assaults and everyone had jumped to some pretty spectacularly gruesome conclusions. Stiles made a face and posted a general comment that he was alive and well, but didn’t include his location or any other details, then promptly logged off.

He did keep his messenger client open, though, since only a handful of people knew his username and in short order Scott’s icon popped up on the screen. He clicked it with a grin.

“Yo, dude,” Stiles said jovially. Scott looked only slightly frantic, which was an improvement from his total mania that morning. His dark hair was only slightly disheveled, a good enough sign.

“Stiles! What the, what happened to your face? Are you home right now? That’s your bedroom! You’re totally in Beacon Hills! My mom said you were at the hospital earlier. Why were you at the hospital?”

“Yeah, Scott, I’m home and I’m fine. Seriously, chill out, dude, take a deep breath.”

His friend sputtered, “Fine?! Are you serious? Have you looked in a mirror? It looks like someone tried to tenderized your face, dude! Is that why my mom saw you earlier?”

Stiles laughed and ran a hand through his already mussed hair. “I had a little run-in with a cement floor, but I really am okay. It’s good to see you, man, I’m sorry I’ve been such a shitty friend, lately.”

Scott pouted a bit, opening and closing his mouth like he wasn’t sure what he wanted to say to that, then finally settled on, “Well, yeah, Stiles, you’ve been kind of a dick.” Though it was more of a grudging admission instead of an angry accusation.

He managed to look contrite, though he was really feeling more relief than anything else. He was apparently perfectly healthy despite the recent shitshow that was his life, his dad knew about the magic, though not the werewolves, and Stiles was finally in a place where he could figure out what all that supernatural stuff meant; mates and anchors and mountain ash circles and just all of it. And on that note-

“I am a dick, and I’m sorry,” he agreed. “Hey, is the clinic open tomorrow?”

Scott looked kind of confused. “Uh, no man, tomorrow’s Sunday, neither of us work then unless something comes up. I’m on call, though.”

Which was actually kind of perfect. “That’s cool, say, can I get Deaton’s number from you? I need to ask him something about something.”

Looking more confused than ever, Scott rattled off the number and didn’t really seem to know what to do with his friend or the strange turn their conversation had taken. “So, um, what’s up with you being in Beacon Hills all of the sudden? Something clearly happened because there have been like, two or three assault reports listing you as a victim and your dad has been going nuts and Laura wouldn’t tell me anything when I called. She just said she couldn’t talk about it and that I should call you.”

Stiles shrugged. “Pretty sure I can’t talk about the open cases, either, but I think everything’s going to work out. My dad dragged me to the hospital because of all of this,” he gestured to his face, “but Melissa ran my blood samples and they came back one hundred healthy. Like, we’re talking textbook perfect.”

Scott smiled slowly, “Okay, well, that’s awesome.”

“I thought I was going to shit my pants when pretty much the first thing she said was that the results were unusual.”

“But I thought you just said-”

“Yeah, I know, they’re unusual because they’re so perfect. Dude, your mom definitely needs to work on her over-the-phone health reporting skills. Pretty sure I almost fainted.”

Scott laughed, “Oh, man, that’s terrible, I’ll be sure to tell her that tomorrow. Hey, you and your dad should come over for dinner, it’s going to be me and Allison, my mom and Chris. We’re hosting.”

Stiles whistled, “Well hot damn, Scott, it’s like you two are actual adults, hosting Sunday dinner for the folks and all.”

“Very mature, Stiles,” his friend said, rolling his eyes with a grin.

“Yeah, yeah, don’t know what you expect after knowing me for basically our entire lives. I’ll bring dessert, but I’m not sure if Sheriff Stilinski will be joining us, he got called in a little while ago and it seems like it’s going to be an all-nighter.”

Scott made a commiserating face, “Mom’s going to be disappointed, but okay.”

Stiles smiled and chuckled. “Dude, Scott, you get that they’re a thing, right?”

The other man’s utter bafflement made him burst out in a laugh. “Jesus Christ, man! Are you for real? My dad keeps spoons in the freezer because of the hickies he’s sporting on his neck! Hickies your mom gave him!” And while that thought still disturbed him, he couldn’t keep the knowledge to himself, especially not when it evoked such a frantic exclamation from his friend.

Scott actually jumped out of his chair and paced across the familiar confines of his and Allison’s multipurpose storage and computer room. After half a lap he stubbed his toe on something and jumped around doing his almost-swearing thing he’d learned to do at the clinic because Deaton didn’t like it when he damned and shitted and fucked around the clients, and Stiles thought his ribs were going to break he was laughing so hard.

Allison came in a minute later, staring at the scene of Stiles’ head thrown back in a silent, gasping laugh and her husband’s silent pouting, then shook her head and walked out without a word.

“Oh my god, I don’t think I’ve laughed like that since the time we got drunk and peed off the canyon in the preserve.”

Scott wasn’t impressed. “Stiles, we almost fell off the edge that night. We could have _died_ ,” he reminded him in his super serious _I am your conscience you should listen to me_ voice.

Stiles scoffed, “Yeah, maybe, but it was still hilarious. I don’t even remember what was so funny, but it was great. Hey, we should totally go back there while I’m in town, which is for an indeterminate amount of time. I asked off from work, so we’ll see what happens.”

His friend made a noncommittal noise which meant Stiles could persuade him to do it if he tried hard enough, then said, “Hey, so we’ll definitely see you here tomorrow, right?”

“Absolutely,” Stiles replied, recognizing Scott’s whole abandonment discomfort thing they didn’t talk about ever. “I can’t wait to chill out with you, we’ll have to get in some bro-time while I’m around, catch up on stuff and talk about your incoming bundle of joy.”

Scott laughed, “Dude, did you just call my future child an _incoming bundle of joy_?”

“Yep.”

“You’re so weird, Stiles,” he said fondly, “I’ll be around tomorrow if you want to drop by earlier. Dinner’s at six.”

“Right-o, see ya, dude.”

“Later, man.”

So that had gone a lot better than Stiles had anticipated, though he probably shouldn’t have been surprised, Scott was his best friend and would probably have forgiven him for pretty much anything.

_Like murder?_ a voice asked, sounding uncomfortably like Gerard.

Stiles shuddered and cued some music on his laptop, then went and took a shower.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just re-read SorS and wow, that was pretty long! Also, SDCC is KILLING ME with all the new cast interviews/pictures/etc, I LOVE IT!


	5. Chapter 5

After toweling dry and slipping into a fresh pair of boxers and an old Beacon Hills High tshirt, Stiles didn’t really feel like wrestling Betty into submission and dealing with whatever was invariably wrong with the ancient jeep, so he caught up on things online and wrote out a grocery list for the next day's shopping trip, including all the ingredients he’d need for baking whatever apology dessert he was going to whip up for Scott. Probably something brownie-ish. Allison loved his brownies.

Overall, Stiles felt oddly relaxed, like a weight had been lifted from him and woah, maybe that’s what being a morally responsible citizen felt like? Well, moral as in doing the right thing regarding his work stuff, not moral as in never having killed someone because he’d kind of done the latter and _huh_.

No matter how many times he reminded himself about that, Stiles just couldn’t seem to dredge up any guilt over Gerard’s death. Or the deaths of Charlie or Kate, for that matter, which was weird because he’d actually kind of known the two of them. Well, he’d known about Charlie’s sexual predilections and Kate’s creepiness. All he’d gotten from Gerard was his extensive police record and willingness to host werewolf murder hour. Stiles wasn’t an advocate of vigilantism per se, not after the number of lectures his dad had given him on that particular subject, but he appreciated the neatness with which his former issues had been resolved.

Back what seemed like a lifetime ago, he'd known the court case with Cassandra could have potentially negatively impacted his entire life, had they not reached a plea deal beforehand. But the Argents? They had had access to a lot more resources than that one psychotic woman. So, did it make Stiles a bad person for feeling relief at their deaths? Probably. Did he feel anything other than relief about the whole thing? Not really, no.

Yeah, he definitely wasn’t telling Scott about that whole mess until he had to. Stiles didn't need to know his best friend’s reaction to his apparent callousness and disregard of human life because there would probably be a whole lot of pouting involved. Even though the lives in questions had belonged to completely shitty people, he was pretty sure that wasn’t how his friend would view things. Also, Stiles was kind of tired of thinking about it, but shit, he was going to have to because apparently he was going to see Chris the next day and fuck, Stiles had been one of the last people to see his father and sister alive.

“Holy fucking shitballs," he muttered, running his hands through his damp hair, then down his face. “Oh, god, this is going to be all kinds of terrible.”

And really, Stiles should have anticipated the fact that his phone would ring, but the sudden noise was still jarring enough that he flailed for a second before he got his limbs under control and could propel himself out of his chair and over to his bedside table.

He grabbed the phone from his charger and fell back onto his bed as he pressed the call accept button.

“Hello?” he said, actually not knowing which of the Hales would be on the other line even though the call was from Derek's number.

“Stiles,” Laura said calmly and he flinched.

“Hi Laura, look I'm sorry for bailing on you guys, I-”

“Hey,” she cut him off, “we’ll talk about that later, but right now we need to know if you’re okay. Derek just went nuts again and wouldn’t stop howling until one of us called you. And what happened earlier? He was about to try to bust through a window he was so frantic to get inside to use the phone.”

The mental image of Derek in his big fluffy wolf form locked out of the house in the frigid Wisconsin snow desperately trying to get inside made Stiles’ heart ache. “You guys _locked him out_? What the hell, Laura?” A sense of indignation filled him and he inexplicably felt himself flush with anger and a powerful urge to protect the stupid guy and _what_?

Laura let out a frustrated noise. “Are you damaged or not, Stilinski? Derek’s on the other side of the window and if he gets a frozen nose print on it Mom’s not going to be happy.”

“I’m fine,” Stiles gritted out. “Earlier it was just about my blood test results, The way Melissa was talking about them I thought something was wrong, but it turns out I’m perfectly healthy. As for just now, well, uh, I’m kind of having dinner at Scott's tomorrow and Chris Argent’s going to-”

There was the unmistakable sound of shattering glass and Stiles thought his heart was going to leap out of his chest. “Laura? Laura what’s going on, are you okay?”

In the distance he could hear her swearing loudly and colorfully and then, “Stiles,” Derek panted into the receiver, as if he’d been running or had just _broken through a window_ to speak to him. The lunatic. And hey, that was actually the perfect descriptor for the big dumb werewolf.

“Jesus Christ, Derek,” he said, hand over his chest as he stared up at the ceiling. It lacked the weird water stain that had been spreading in his Chicago apartment and for some reason he felt a little conflicted about that. He took a deep breath and blew it out in an angry huff. “ _Why the fuck_ did you just bust through the window? Is your sister okay? Are _you_ okay?”

“We’re fine,” he said testily, like that was a total time-waste of a question. “Are you okay?”

Stiles sat up with an incredulous laugh, “Dude, I wasn’t the one who just _broke through a fucking window_! Don’t write off my concern so casually, that’s bullshit and you know it.”

Derek made a frustrated noise and then there was what sounded like a brief scuffle and maybe a few shouts followed by the quick slapping of bare feet against wood and then a door closing and-

“Oh my god, did you just lock yourself in your mother’s soundproofed office so you could talk to me?” Stiles asked, pressing his palm to his forehead and trying to suppress a grin.

“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” Derek said levelly, but he was still kind of breathing a bit too heavily and Stiles had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing.

“Uh, huh, sure thing, Derek. I can’t believe you just streaked through your house like that. You are naked, aren’t you? You know, since you were a wolf just a few seconds ago.”

Derek made a noise of agreement, or acknowledgement and the guy really had to work on using his words. Stiles told him as much and he barked out a laugh before he sobered almost instantly.

“Stiles,” he said with a gentle, yet firm voice. And even though it hadn’t been all that long since they’d been intimate, he felt himself shudder when he heard the other man say his voice with such warmth. And that was how he knew he was just fucking broken.

“Derek,” he replied, but instead of having a teasing edge to his voice like he’d been going for, there was a bit too much honest rawness in it for his liking.

They both paused after that, breathing deeply and consequently in sync with each other because why the hell not?

“Did you cut your feet on the glass?” Stiles asked quietly.

“A little,” Derek admitted, which probably meant there were giant shards sticking out of his flesh and Stiles’ stomach churned at the thought. “Dad’s probably not going to be thrilled about the blood trail I left on the floor.”

Stiles groaned and leaned his forearms across his thighs so his head was hanging down, “Dude, seriously? That’s terrible, you’re terrible, oh my god please take care of yourself before we continue this conversation. I’ll just wait over here gagging at the thought of your mangled flesh. Just tell me when you’re healed or whatever.”

He squeezed his eyes closed and thought about rainbows and puppies and not the fact that the other man was probably digging out pieces of glass from his feet because he’d just broken a window and then run across a hardwood floor barefoot and Stiles might actually hurl.

“Stiles, it’s okay,” Derek soothed, his voice like a balm that worked to instantly settle his roiling stomach and _that_ wasn’t entirely fair, even if it was appreciated. “I’m okay. Now, what were you saying about Chris Argent?”

He heaved a breath and fell back onto the bed. “He’s Allison’s dad, Scott's father-in-law, and the grandfather of my future niece or nephew. He owns a gun store and shooting range in town, and we're going to be sitting at the same table for dinner tomorrow night."

"Jesus, Stiles," the other man said, like he had something to do with the absolute cluterfuck within which he found himself.

"Hey, this is that victim-blaming shit again, Hale, and I don't want to hear it. I want to hear your take on how I'm going to handle this situation since I was the one who was there when both Chris' insane father and sister died. Come on, anything constructive to add to the conversation Mr. Broody? And don't even give me the eyebrows, they doesn't work nearly as well when I can't see them."

Derek snorted. " _Mr. Broody?_ Really, Stiles?"

"Still not helping, Derek," Stiles insisted because he was kind of a shit sometimes.

There was a long, deep sigh on the line and Stiles found himself mimicking it, more out of a shared sense of doom than anything else.

Finally, "I'm not sure what to do," Derek admitted. Which, hey, that was surprisingly mature of him. That was practically character growth, actually, and if he kept that up Stiles might even forgive him sometime within the next century for him acting like such a gigantic douchebag previously.

"Should we ask Talia?" Stiles suggested quietly. He assumed she couldn't hear them, though he could be wrong. Derek could have locked himself in the hall closet for all he knew.

It kind of sounded like the other man whined for a second before he cleared his throat. "Mother's not going to be pleased with me, but if that's what you think is best I'll go get her and she can offer us her advice."

Stiles actually kind of wanted to curl up under his covers and forget about the whole thing, but knew that wasn't going to get him anywhere so he shrugged. "It's up to you, Derek. I have no idea what to say to Chris and it doesn't sound like you do, either. And no," he added before the other man could interrupt, "I can't just avoid him. He's basically a part of my family, and you know he's going to find out I was involved, however tangentially, in the deaths. Allison, too, and shit she actually kind of liked Kate before her mom died and then the whole _threatening to take her baby_ thing came up."

Derek gave a low growl. “She would have done it, too, Kate wasn’t one to be trifled with when she went after something.”

And that reminded him of something. “Hey, who was it that messed up her internal plumbing? Allison said something happened when she lived in Beacon Hills and it made it so she couldn’t have kids. Do you know about that?”

The quiet on the other line sounded a lot like reluctance.

“Derek?”

The other man sighed, “Yes, Stiles, I know what happened.”

He waited for a beat, but Derek didn’t continue. “And? Are you going to tell me about it?”

There was another sigh, a sound of resignation. “It’s not really something for me to tell, Stiles. I will if you insist, but-”

“No, you don’t have to, I was just curious, I guess. But this doesn’t help us with the Chris thi-” a giant yawn cut off the end of the word and Stiles ran his free hand through his hair, which had gotten fluffy as it had dried.

Derek huffed a laugh, “You’re tired, you should go to sleep. Laura will ask Mother about what you should do and one of them will get back to you tomorrow before your dinner, okay?”

Stiles grumbled, but he was pretty exhausted. “Fine, though you’re not the boss of me, just so you know.”

“Noted,” Derek said with what had to be a smirk.

“Mhm, try not to get even more grounded. Night, Derek.”

“Sleep well, Stiles.”

He hung up and stared up at the ceiling for a while longer, kind of stunned at how familiar it was, how comforting it felt to be in his own room and the only thing that would have made it better was if a stupid fluffy werewolf was curled up next to him, preferably in his Ginger Bear form. Stiles groaned and rubbed a hand across his eyes. It had only been about a day since he’d fled Wisconsin and he’d already talked to Derek twice, been inexplicably comforted by him in both instances, and he was pretty sure the guy had not actually learned his lesson at all, though he had sounded kind of guilty a few times.

“Get it together, Stilinski,” he berated himself. In the morning he was going to talk to Dr. Deaton, go to the Hale house, and read everything he could about his apparent magical predilection and whatever the hell he had going on with Derek. Their weird mated anchor thing, or whatever. Yeah, he’d do that and then come up with a plan for how he was going to handle the idiot. Hopefully. Satisfied, Stiles crawled his way up the bed and flicked off his bedside lamp, curling up into the fetal position and trying not to think of anything as he drifted off to sleep.

  
  


They were in the same field as before, but the sky was an endless bright blue instead of filled with dark clouds and the wind had lessened to a gentle breeze that slid over Stiles’ bare skin like a caress. Speaking of caresses, Derek’s broad hand ran a warm line down his spine and he couldn’t keep himself from arching against it like a cat. He was straddling the other man’s hips, both of them naked and oh-

It was one of _those_ kinds of dreams, then.

_Okay_.

Stiles put one hand against Derek’s shoulder to hold him down, as if he actually could without the werewolf’s permission, and then lowered his face to stare into those impossible hazel eyes.

“I’m still mad at you,” he confessed.

Derek frowned, looking somewhat contrite, and brought his free hand up so he could slide his thumb gently across Stiles’ injured cheek, though it didn’t hurt at all. “I know you are, and the thought wounds me,” Derek whispered.

Stiles nodded, and moved carefully until their lips were just touching. “But I can’t seem to stop myself from touching you when you’re just laid out under me like this.”

The other man gave a little gasp and then they were kissing, sweet and wet and lingering, drinking each other in like they had all the time in the world. Stiles’ hands came up and cupped Derek’s face, caressing the scruff there and tilting his head back so he could deepen the kiss. He moved his hips until their hardening cocks were touching and a frizure of pleasure jolted through him.

“Fuck,” Stiles gasped against his lips.

"Love to," Derek replied, breathless, his hands moving to Stiles' waist, grinding them harder against each other as Stiles moaned into his mouth.

It took him a minute to get his brain back in gear, but he finally managed to plant one hand on the center of Derek's chest and push himself up, delighting in the bright stars of pleasure the burst behind his closed eyes as the movement created an intensely interesting sensation where they were pressed together. He opened them, finally, and his breath caught at the raw hunger he saw in Derek's expression.

Stiles smirked, he could definitely work with that. "Lick," he commanded, offering his palm to the other man.

Derek obeyed with a quirked brow lathing his tongue across the sensitive skin in long wet swipes, and Stiles shivered even as he grinned, then wrapped his damp hand around both of their hard cocks. He couldn’t contain his own moan as he reveled in the exquisite feel of them together, Derek’s uncut cock against his as he twisted his wrist and set a pace slow enough to maintain for as long as he needed.

Beneath him Derek arched, his hands clamped on Stiles thighs like he was afraid to let go and Stiles clicked his tongue fondly.

When the other man finally gained enough control over himself to look Stiles in the eyes he smirked. "Prep me, I'm going to ride you until I come."

Derek groaned, his hands bruising in their firmness, but then he seemed to gather himself enough to understand and for a second Stiles thought he wasn’t going to play along, so he tightened his grip just a bit and watched as the other man’s resistance crumbled with a moan.

“Come on, only one of us is going to beg tonight and it’s not going to be me,” Stiles said and he felt Derek’s dick jump against his where his hand was wrapped around them.

“Fuck,” Derek moaned, tilting his head back and it was quite possibly the best thing Stiles had ever seen in his life.

“Plan on it,” he replied with a smirk, leaning forward to mouth so tenderly at the man’s impossibly delicate looking collarbone that his actions elicited a breathy gasp. “Hurry up,” he whispered against the red skin, “I want to feel you inside of me.”

Apparently that was all the encouragement Derek needed because then he had three fingers in his mouth, and a hungry look on his face and Stiles rewarded him with a light nip on his jaw and a slight squeeze. He moaned as Derek took his glistening fingers and quickly found his hole, circling it once, twice, before slowly pushing past the tight rim of muscle with a finger and Stiles rocked back against his firm hand.

“Yes,” he hissed resting his forehead on Derek’s hard chest and looking down at where his hand was wrapped obscenely around their dicks and the other man was working a thick finger inside of him and it felt _so good_.

“Fuck, Derek,” he whispered, mouthing his way up the inane muscles to his taught neck, brushing his smooth cheek against the stubble until their lips met in a clash of teeth and tongue and he keened as another finger slid inside of him with a perfect kind of burn.

Beneath him Derek grunted and shifted. “Not enough slick,” he said, but that didn’t stop him from twitching his fingers just so and then Stiles was gasping at the incredible sensation of having his prostate stimulated and he couldn’t even use words he was so overwhelmed and it just kept getting more and more intense with every passing caress.

He spit on his other hand and worked them both over their hard cocks, to the rhythm Derek set inside of him and he couldn’t do more than gasp and pant against the other man’s hot skin and then his thighs were trembling and it was like a white hot burst of light erupted from within him as he suddenly came, crying out as his come pattered onto the other man’s taught abs.

Derek’s hand quickly replaced his own, squeezing the last few drops from Stiles’ tender cock, before running his palm across the spunk and wrapping his damp hand around his own dick, jerking it a few times as he hungrily watched Stiles struggle to stay upright.

“Still want to ride me?” Derek smirked, like he’d won the little sexual exchange.

Not one to back down from such a delicious challenge, Stiles batted the man’s hand away from his dick and gently grabbed onto it, tilting his hips, legs still trembling slightly but whatever, and sinking slowly onto the hot, huge cock. There wasn’t enough lube, even with the addition of his own come, but _unf_ that was hot.

The werewolf hissed, his eyes flashing blue before he could control it, hands latching onto Stiles’ waist to keep him still. “Fuck, Stiles, you’re so tight.”

“‘Course I am,” he gritted out. He couldn’t take much more, even though he’d sort of been prepped and he just wanted Derek to come inside of him which was a completely foreign concept. Up until that point he’d always insisted he and his partners play it safe with sex, but something about Derek just, “You’re going to come inside of me,” he heard himself say and Derek’s eyes flashed blue again and stayed that way.

“Move,” Derek said around slightly sharpened teeth.

Stiles narrowed his eyes and planted both hands on the other man’s chest, reminding himself that he was in charge and that he could totally control the situation as long as he didn’t let Derek get the upper hand. He shifted his hips in a slow circle, reveling in the sounds his actions pulled from the other man.

“Like this?” he teased.

Derek’s hands flexed against him like he was contemplating just lifting his body and slamming him down onto his dick, but Stiles shook his head.

“Like this,” he said firmly, and bent to lick up the center of Derek’s chest to his neck, moving so Derek’s cock slid out almost to the tip before he canted his hips back and reseated himself with a breathy gasp. Derek echoed him and it sounded like the most unbelievable music. Stiles wanted to record it and set it as his ringtone and extract the same noise from the other man always.

“Do you like it when I ride you?” he asked, mouthing along the man’s stretched neck. Derek’s eyes were closed, brow furrowed and it looked like he was experiencing the most intense pleasurable pain imaginable, but he still nodded his head, anyway.

“Faster?” Stiles suggested, earning another nod.

His own dick was definitely interested again and he spat on his palm, working it to the same rhythm he set with his hips, thighs finally getting back into the swing of things and even though it wasn’t as easy a slide as the first time they’d fucked with actual lube and a condom, it was it’s own kind of amazing.

Beneath him Derek bucked and Stiles threw back his head with a gasped laugh. “Yes, Derek, come on, show me what you’ve got.”

His words seemed to unleash something because he could feel the hands on his hips grow claws and a growl rumbled through the other man’s chest, resonating where their bodies were joined and Stiles dug his hands into the firm muscles of Derek’s chest as he was lifted up so the other man could hold him in place slam up into him with a bruising pace.

“Fuck, Derek,” he cried out, loving every burning inch, panting as he held on, leaving red marks that faded almost instantly on the sweaty skin.

The growl grew louder and Stiles slid his hands up to Derek’s neck and then into his hair, tilting the man’s head so they could look at each other, the blazing blue eyes wide and hungry and then he fucked up into Stiles one more time before he stilled completely, no longer growling or even breathing and then there was a hot pulse of come deep inside of him and Stiles’ second orgasm tore through him without warning.

“Derek,” he whispered, falling forward into darkness.

  
  


In the light of morning, his problems didn’t seem quite as bad, whether it was from the absolute awesomeness of the dream or the fact that he woke up in his own bed in his own familiar room, Stiles wasn’t certain. Well, one certainty was that he needed to change his sheets, which were kind of embarrassingly sticky, so he stripped them off and dumped them and his soiled boxers into the basket and dashed naked across the hall for a quick shower.

He spent the early morning hours singing jovially as he did laundry and generally tidied up the already fairly neat house, then he put on some old workout gear that would serve well enough for what he intended and slipped outside into the brisk air. It was nowhere near as cold as Chicago or Wisconsin, but his skin was pleasantly chilled as he jogged through the quiet streets of the neighborhood and over to one of the paths that led into the preserve.

Stiles hadn’t often run through the woods. Well, he hadn’t often run when he’d lived in Beacon Hills, that had been more of a Chicago phenomena, but he enjoyed the thrumming noises of the bugs and birds as they flitted around the peaceful atmosphere of the forest. It was much more soothing than the mechanical whirring of the treadmill as his feet thudded against the textured rubber.

He wore his phone strapped to his arm, but didn’t put on any music as he went, just enjoying himself and the occasional glimpses of squirrels and chipmunks and whatever other little woodland creatures peaked out at him as he made his way deeper into the preserve with his feet pattering lightly on the pine leaves and winter scrub brush. Stiles wasn’t entirely certain where he was going, but eventually he broke through a clearing and stumbled to a stop in front of a house. The Hale’s house.

“Holy shit,” he whispered, leaning forward with his hands on his thighs as he caught his breath. He’d meant to call Dr. Deaton at some point that morning to see if the man would let him into the place, but since he was there he figured he might as well try it out himself. Stiles didn’t think Talia would be too pissed at him, and it wasn’t as if he was going to pull a Derek and bust out one of the windows. No, he’d use some of the skills his dad had taught him, though that would earn him quite a reaming if the sheriff ever found out, which he wouldn’t because Stiles was going to be careful.

Justification firmly in place, Stiles rolled his shoulders and jogged up to the massive structure, the imposing brick and white wood mansion looking strangely out of place in the unspoiled forest. But despite how long they’d been gone, nearly twenty years, it hardly looked abandoned at all, more like the Hales had simply stepped out for a day or week. Stiles put one foot on the bottom step of the porch and bit his lip. The cut had healed overnight, he’d noticed when he’d looked in the mirror, though there was still a slight discoloration there and his cheek’s vivid bruise had rapidly graduated to a smear of mottled green.

It was kind of a big deal, really, for Stiles to venture into the house. From what Derek had said, the answers to a lot of his questions were waiting for him inside, and he felt a shiver of anticipation run up his spine at the thought. The front door was locked, which he’d expected, and even though he looked under and around everything in the vicinity, there wasn’t a hidden key to be found. The same was true of the back door, and the well-hidden mudflap that made up the bottom of the door was sealed shut as well. Stiles tried a few of the windows he could reach, but they were unsurprisingly locked as well and that narrowed his options considerably.

If the place had been recently occupied he would have tried climbing up the outside wall that was covered in ivy to check the upper windows along the roof, but since that wasn’t the case he figured it would have been a wasted effort.

“Place is like a fortress,” he muttered as he wandered around it some more. If he’d known he was going to end up there, he would have put together a lock-picking kit, but he didn’t have the patience to go back to his house since he was already there and he just really _really_ wanted to get inside of there and huh.

Stiles jumped onto the porch again and looked at the front door. It almost seemed like something was different about it. He touched the metal of the knob and an arch of electricity jumped from it to his palm with a snap and then it turned easily in his hand and he was inside.

“How about that?” he said, and walked in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's a long one!  
> And sexy times!


	6. Chapter 6

It looked the same as the last time he’d visited, shadowing Dr. Deaton while the man had wandered around touching random objects and telling Stiles not to disturb anything which was stupid because he seemed to have had free reign to do what he wanted, and it wasn’t as if anyone else had been around to care whether or not Stiles fiddled with the random carvings and paintings hidden under the sheets. But whatever, he’d mostly behaved himself that time, only getting censuring looks from the vet a few times.

Actually, looking back Stiles wasn’t even certain what they’d been doing there besides checking to ensure no one was squatting in the house and to make sure there wasn't storm damage or whatever. The way Deaton had gone through the place had seemed pretty purposeful, but when Stiles had inquired about it he’d just brushed off the questions with enigmatic non-answers. His specialty, really. And that was an odd thought or consideration or whatever. Stiles was suddenly curious about the vet’s role in the Hale’s life and he choked back a sudden inappropriate laugh because Dr. Deaton was a _veterinarian_ and the Hales were _werewolves_.

“Oh my god, that’s hilarious,” Stiles breathed, grinning because it wasn’t like there was anyone there to tell him he was being an asshole. “Definitely not going to tell Derek about that,” he decided. Well, at least not unless it came up, then he was pretty sure his limited self-control wouldn’t hold in the face of that particular revelation.

As he moved through the entryway into the living room he noticed that the air was thick with dust and a stillness born from abandonment. Unlike the outside, once in the house it was immediately apparent that no one had occupied it for a long, long while. Stiles walked slowly, resisting the urge to drag his fingers over the furniture for fear of disrupting a cloud of dust and getting caught in a sneezing loop. Instead he linked his fingers behind his neck, feeling the pull of the band around his bicep where his phone was tucked and he tried to imagine Derek and his family living there.

It wasn't hard, really, he'd seen Derek and Laura in a domestic setting, could picture the man’s amazing figure as he crouched in front of the huge stone fireplace that dominated an entire living room wall, bending down to blow on the kindling until it caught while Laura heckled him from where she was splayed on the huge couch tucked in amongst her friends slash lovers. Stiles suddenly wondered how important touch was to werewolves, if there was some kind of scent marking component like in other pack animals. Not that the Hales were animals because they definitely were not despite apparently having Dr. Deaton on call. But still.

He meandered his way around the room silently, treating it like the museum it had become. Stiles couldn't forget that his mother had been one of the last people who had visited there before the family had fled east. He closed his eyes and tried to imagine it, to think about the sound of her laughter, of her reading comic books with Laura and listening to Derek's enthusiastic storytelling. Stiles smiled and stepped further into the house.

  
  


And really, he probably should have anticipated the alarm, though he wouldn’t have guessed it was a silent one. He’d barely gotten to the hallway past the living room when he heard the pants-shitttingly-familiar sound of a police siren whirring outside, then he saw the flash of red and blue lights through the windows and knew he was screwed.

“Shit,” he muttered, back-tracking. He waited in the entry-way until the electronic-sounding amplified voice called for the intruder to step outside with their hands up. Stiles complied and winced when the sheriff swore over the loudspeaker.

“Hey, Dad,” he said as meekly as he could manage, “You got here pretty fast.”

His phone vibrated where it was strapped to his arm in a continuous buzzing that indicated a call. “Want me to get this, it’s probably the Hales,” he said nodding toward it, but not putting his hands down because he wasn’t stupid and his dad looked pretty pissed about the entire situation.

"What the hell, Stiles?" he said, throwing the receiver back into his squad car and stalking toward him. "Do you want to tell me what you’re doing here and why you just committed a felony?"

"Technically it was only a misdemeanor and I will," Stiles promised, moving his hand over so he could get to his phone, "but I'm just going to-" he pushed the call accept button and put it on speakerphone.

"Hey, you've got Stiles and the sheriff on the line," he said, with false joviality as his dad rolled his eyes.

"Stiles, John," Talia's utterly calm voice said and he winced, suspecting that conversation wasn't going to end well. At least not for him.

His dad gestured for him to hand over the phone, which he did with a pout. "Talia," he said, "this is our second conversation in as many days, what are we going to do with our sons?"

"I've been having the same thought," she replied wryly and Stiles was still kind of pissed about her making Derek stay outside in his wolf form. He wondered how that had turned out after the whole window incident. And actually-

"Oh, hey, did Derek get in trouble for the window thing because that was partially my fault, too," Stiles said.

His dad gave him a look that said he was super not impressed with his son's life choices or the fact that he was interrupting a grown-up discussion. "Actually, we're here outside your house in Beacon Hills. It appears my son thought it wise to do a little breaking and entering."

"Hey!" Stiles protested, "I did nothing of the kind. The door was unlocked." At least it had been the second time he'd tried it.

Talia made a considering noise. "That is why I called Stiles, actually. I wanted to ensure that he stayed away from the house since the alarm was triggered, but it appears that warning isn't necessary. Thank you for responding so promptly, Sheriff, but your son has my permission to enter our home at any time. Actually, we'll be returning there shortly, as soon as Rollin and I finish up a few things here in Wisconsin."

"You're," Stiles sputtered, "you're coming here? To visit?"

"Actually, we’ll be moving," Talia said mildly. "It seems prudent given recent events. I expect some of my children to arrive within a day or two, so if it isn't too much of a bother, Stiles, would you be so kind as to open some windows to air out the place a bit? I can't imagine how closed up and dusty it must be. The spare key is in my study under the leather bound copy of Shakespeare's poetry, so no more lockpicking will be necessary."

His dad was looking back and forth between the phone and Stiles with a kind of bewilderment. He could relate.

"A day or two?" Stiles asked, stomach clenching. It was one thing to talk to Derek on the phone when they were two thousand miles apart, but it was quite another to have the man suddenly reside in the same town as him. Also, he hasn't had much time to really analyze the previous night’s dream outside of recognizing how unfathomably awesome it had been, but Laura and the rest had seemed to think the whole dream sharing thing was a big deal and _holy shit_ that's probably what had happened. Stiles felt himself blush at the thought that apparently he'd actually dominated Derek the precious night, distance notwithstanding, and _woah_ the other man had let him.

"Stiles," Talia said, drawing back to the present. “You did _pick_ the lock, didn’t you?”

Stiles glanced at his dad and bit his lip, “Um, actually I think I might have used some of my magic or whatever to do that. There was an electric shock when I touched the doorknob and then it was unlocked even though it hadn’t been before.”

His dad swore and flung up his free hand, “For Christ’s sake, Stiles. Now I have to worry about you using magic to break the law? Unbelievable.”

“You wished the door open, then?” Talia asked, and it was actually pretty freaking surreal to be having such a bizarre conversation with two adults who apparently didn’t think he was batshit crazy; and they were instead discussing it like semi-rational people, his father's reaction notwithstanding.

Stiles scuffed his feet across the dirt. “Yeah, I really wanted to get inside to look at those books Derek mentioned, so I just hoped really hard and the door opened.”

Talia hummed, “Well, then it looks like I’ll have to send my son along, too. Derek was going to stay back with Isaac and Boyd to help close out the Argent business, but if you have used some of your magical talents you’re going to need him closeby so you can recover properly.”

“And why is that?” his dad asked, though it kind of seemed like he had an inkling about the answer because he was already looking halfway to resigned.

Stiles turned to face him fully and took a fortifying breath. “So, about the whole anchor thing,” he said, and his dad groaned.

  
  


After fetching the key and opening the windows and peeling off the dusty sheets and shaking them out in the yard and sneezing a thousand times and turning on the main water valve and letting the sinks and tubs run for a while and switching on the electricity and making sure all the circuits worked and then closing the windows and locking up, Stiles finally collapsed into the squad car next his dad and sighed, resting his head back against the seat.

“That was a lot of work,” he said, his arms felt like noodles and he was covered in a combination of dust and sweat that made gross gritty streaks across his skin.

The sheriff glanced over at him from where he was playing a game on his phone. “Probably shouldn’t have gone in without permission,” he said. “Though I assume you haven’t learned your lesson, that would be hoping for too much.”

“Probably,” Stiles agreed, buckling his seatbelt. “Now can we please go home so I can shower because I feel completely disgusting right now. And I still have to go grocery shopping because we’re not eating out all the time while I’m here.”

“Oh, I don’t know, Stiles,” his dad said and he was definitely smirking as he drove slowly down the bumpy forest road that made up the Hale’s long driveway, “I was thinking about dropping you off at the station and seeing what we could find for you to do, there. The evidence room hasn’t been dusted in years.”

Stiles glared at him. “Oh, har har, you’re hilarious,” he said, then stopped to yawn. “Scratch that, shower and then a nap and then grocery shopping. Oh, we’ve been cordially invited to dinner at the McCall’s tonight.”

“And you’re baking something, I assume?” his dad said, trying not to sound completely thrilled by the prospect of devouring Stiles’ treats.

He bit back another yawn, “Uh, huh. And don’t think you’re getting more than one brownie out of it because it's not going to happen.”

That earned him an unimpressed look. “And don’t think I’m going to ignore the fact that your anchor is that Derek fellow.”

Stiles rolled his eyes, “We’ve talked about the whole fellow thing, Dad, it’s-” he paused to yawn “-it’s so antiquated for you to use that word. And I think I might actually nap first, and then shower because I’m kind of having a hard time keeping my eyes open right now.” Even as he said it his eyes kind of drifted shut and he sighed at the delightful feeling of utter relaxation.

“Come on, kid, we’re home,” his dad was saying, shaking him by the shoulder and Stiles groaned.

“No, five more minutes,” he said, twisting the other way and promptly braining himself on something hard. His eyes snapped open and he found his face pressed against the passenger window of his dad’s cruiser and huh, they were home. “Right,” he said, fumbling to unbuckle his seat belt.

“You got it, Stiles?” his dad asked, clearly amused at watching his son fail. He finally took pity and pressed the release and the buckle retracted so quickly it almost smack Stiles in the face. As it was it hit his wrist with a clack and he swore under his breath.

His dad laughed. Because he was an asshole.

“Finding amusement in other people’s pain is a sign of sociopathy,” he declared, glaring and rubbing his tender skin. Stiles wasn’t actually certain if that was true, but it sounded pretty accurate and it made his dad roll his eyes so whatever.

“Just get cleaned up,” his dad said as Stiles opened the passenger door with a huff. “I’ll let you know about dinner.”

Stiles yawned and waved as he walked up the driveway, his legs feeling oddly loose, like his joints weren’t fully operational or something. He fumbled his way inside and didn’t even bother to kick off his shoes as he stumbled upstairs to his bedroom. Since he’d just cleaned the sheets he had a moment of debate with himself before he just sprawled out on the floor and passed out with a happy sigh.

  
  


He woke up with a start, disoriented and achy where he was stretched out face down on the rough carpeting of his bedroom floor, bright sunlight shining down in a solid bar of light directly in front of him. And that was probably what had woken him up, actually. His skin felt like it was covered in sand, salty and gritty and gross. He made a face and levered himself upright, swaying slightly as his trembling arms struggled to support his weight.

“Stupid Derek,” he muttered, not really knowing why he blamed the dumb werewolf, but that didn’t keep him from doing it all the same.

Getting to the bathroom was a bit of a challenge and a part of him kind of wished that the other man had been there because he’d seemed to be fully capable of taking care of Stiles during his weird post-magic lethargy. Stiles had to take a break once he got inside, stretched out on the cold tile floor and contemplating how the hell he was going to pull off the whole shower thing. Somehow still attached to his armband, his phone buzzed a call.

He blindly punched at the screen until it connected. “‘Lo,” he said, battling back a yawn as he scooted into a vaguely upright position and rested his head against the wall.

“Stiles?” Derek’s concerned voice said and he smiled because the other man couldn’t see and he was stupidly relieved to hear his voice.

“‘Sup, Derek?” he asked, deliberately keeping his tone neutral and ignoring the fact that the last time they’d spoken it had been during some of the hottest sex Stiles had ever experienced. He was actually kind of grateful it had been in a dream, though because he wasn’t certain he would have been able to go for his run that morning, or have been able to walk, really, after the partially-unslicked friction from the night before. The delicious friction. Mmm.

The man breathed out a sigh. “Your heart rate has been slow for a few hours, are you okay?”

“I broke into, well, I magicked my way into your house here and then your mom made me clean it up because apparently you guys are moving back to Beacon Hills?”

Derek made a rumbly almost growling noise. “That was this morning?”

Stiles yawned and contemplated the logistics of getting from where he was on the floor and into the bathtub, then had to backtrack because he was still wearing clothes and hadn’t taken that into account. “Yep.” It seemed like a whole lot of effort, but he did feel pretty gross, and also kind of cold.

“I’m sorry if I hurt you,” Derek said and it made Stiles pause in his mental re-evaluation of the steps he needed to take.

“Hurt me? Like hurt my feelings hurt me because yeah, you definitely did that with the whole spying thing, dude.”

“No, I mean,” Derek said, then took a deep breath and started again, “Yes, that, too, but I mean last night, Stiles. I shouldn’t have-”

“Woah, there, did I complain just now? Do you hear me complaining about it?” Because he hadn’t been complaining, or talking about that at all because that really was a conversation destined to be all kinds of awkward. Not that he hadn’t had a phenomenal time in the moment, though, but that was a dreamscape kind of a deal, not something to be discussed in real life, and he was definitely blushing at the memory.

“Well, no,” the other man admitted reluctantly.

Stiles pulled one of his legs closer so he could untie his shoelaces with unhelpfully fumbling fingers. “Pretty sure you don’t need to apologize for that. The other stuff, though? Yeah, definitely. Oh, hey, what's up with the Chris thing? Your mom have an opinion about that? It sounds like Laura and maybe Erica are on their way over here already, so does she even know about it?” He wanted to ask what had happened after the whole window streaking incident, but was also kind of uncomfortable getting into that with Derek since it had kind of been his fault in a weird way.

“Last night she said she would think about it,” Derek said quietly. He’d seemed a lot more subdued than when Stiles had seen him in person before the whole situation blew up in their faces, and that was definitely guilt weighing him down, Stiles certainly recognized that from personal experience.

“Okay,” he said slowly, finally liberating one foot, then beginning on the other. “That’s not incredibly helpful, dude, I don’t know what time it is right now, but dinner’s at six my time. Shit, i still have to go grocery shopping. Look, uh, was there a specific reason you called because I’m going to crawl into the tub in a second and wash off all this dust and junk from running through the woods and cleaning your gigantic dusty house.”

“ _Crawl?_ Stiles, are you hurt?”

“That’s not an answer, Derek, and if I was hurt don’t you think I’d tell you? In fact my face is almost healed, and so are the, uh, marks on my neck,” and yep, he was definitely blushing.

Derek made a frustrated noise. “I called because your heart rate has been slow for a few hours, it’s early afternoon, and I’d hope you’d feel comfortable enough to tell me if you were injured, but I’m not certain if that’s the case.”

Stiles grunted in agreement as he finally wriggled his foot out of the other shoe and yanked off his socks, then shimmied off his shorts and briefs. He hissed as his bare butt touched the tile floor.

“Stiles?” Derek asked in alarm.

“Chill out, the floor’s just cold,” he replied, stripping off his shirt and pausing to slump back against the wall. At that rate he might make it into the tub by nightfall. Maybe. “And yeah, I’d probably tell you if I was hurt.” It was true, he might, if it was pertinent to the situation. “As it is I’m kinda drained and cold and grungy, so unless you want to hear me take a bath I’m going to hang up.” And really, he knew he shouldn’t have given Derek the option, but for some stupid reason he couldn’t seem to stop himself.

“I’d like to talk to you, if you’ll let me,” Derek said quietly.

Stiles frowned down at the phone and un-velcroed the band around his arm so he could set it on the closed lid of the toilet. “Really, now? You’re just going to volunteer information.”

Derek made a frustrated noise, “Yes, Stiles, you were quite clear in your letter about how _my close-mouthed nature makes me come across as a pretentious douche_ , so I’d like to at least begin to make amends if that’s alright with you.”

Stiles frowned, kind of impressed with himself for that particular turn of phrase. “Okay, fine, but I’m starting the water so it might get kinda loud in here.” He crawled slowly across the floor and plugged the drain before running the water. It took him a few minutes, but eventually he got the temperature right and he settled back to sit against the side of the toilet, only slightly winded, which was pretty stupid since he hadn’t really done anything.

“Magic is lame,” he announced. “Oh, hey, are you actually coming here because your mom said-”

“Are you going to let me talk or do you want to just keep asking questions?” Derek asked with the same mild tone Talia had used and Stiles made an impressed face. Sassy Derek was back, it seemed.

“Oh, no, go ahead,” he allowed, watching as the water tumbled from the faucet. He thought about putting something into the water like bubbles or salts or whatever, but didn’t have the energy to go rooting around under the sink to find some.

Derek sighed. “Stiles, I’ve had some time to think, I know it hasn’t been very long since you left, but every moment you’re in Beacon Hills and I’m here has felt like a lifetime.”

Which was actually kind of uncharacteristically dramatic for Derek, but okay, everyone had their moments.

“I’m glad you were able to say your piece, even if what you said hurt me. I deserved every insult, and I understand that, now.”

But he hadn’t before? Stiles kind of wondered what had happened to make that change, but didn’t ask. He levered himself onto the side of the tub and slowly lowered his body into the too-hot water, biting his lip to keep from hissing or cursing or whining.

“For us, for werewolves, finding our mate is one of the most important and powerful experiences in our lives. It’s not very common, actually, and over the course of our time together in yoga it became clear that our connection was more than just physical.”

Stiles hadn’t actually been aware that they’d even had a physical connection except for the mandatory touching aspect of the class, but maybe that’s what Derek had meant?

“But I didn’t want to pressure or rush you so I didn’t mention it, plus we keep our werewolf nature a secret for obvious reasons. I still don’t want you to feel pressured, but since I’m your anchor it would be safer for you if I were to be nearby, just in case.”

In case of what? But Stiles felt like the tension in his body was slowly unwinding from a combination of the warm water and Derek’s voice and being home and the fact that no one was threatening to maim him anymore. And really, he’d kind of almost forgiven the dumbass, though he wasn’t about to admit it, not until there had been more groveling and possibly an apology cake or dinner or something, and since Derek was apparently heading to Beacon Hills that was actually something that could happen.

“Stiles?” Derek said quietly, as if he didn’t want to wake him in case he’d fallen asleep.

“Hm?” he grunted in reply. Derek had wanted room to speak, so he was giving it to him.

“I’m sorry I invaded your privacy, even if I felt justified in doing so at the time. I know you’d probably rather not hear my justification for it, but I did just want to ensure your safety and the safety of my pack.”

Which was laudable, but the methods Derek had utilized still grated on Stiles, which reminded him that his phone was probably still hacked and that was unfortunate, not that he even had anything to hide, but it still sucked.

“I want to make this right between us,” Derek continued, then seemed to stall. “It’s strange that you’re so quiet,” he said softly, like he just wanted to be quiet as well. “Are you certain you’re okay?”

“Well,” Stiles said, running his fingers over the surface of the warm water, “I don’t really know what to think, anymore. It sounds like you guys are moving here, which is great for you, I guess, but I have a life in Chicago and this is only a temporary stop for me.”

The whine Derek gave sounded involuntary and he tried to cover it with a cough. “Mother wants me to stay as close to you as you’ll allow, and if that means going back to Chicago I’ll follow you.”

Stiles closed his eyes and sank down until his lips were covered by the water. He honestly didn’t know what to say to that. Eventually he bobbed back to the surface. “Do you understand how weird that sounds?” he asked because he was curious and also didn't feel the need to sugarcoat things, anymore.

Derek made a noise that possibly indicated acknowledgement, and Stiles was beginning to chalk up that kind of non-verbal communication as a werewolf trait since Talia and Laura had both done it as well. Or maybe a Hale trait. When it didn’t seem like he was going to elaborate Stiles sighed.

“Dude, Derek, we met about a month ago. In that time you basically stalked me, you had your friend plant a camera in my apartment, and you encouraged me to break the confidentiality agreement I had with my job so you could expedite the process of taking down what I’m going to go ahead and consider your family’s arch nemesis. Had I done as you'd repeatedly asked me to do I would have been fired and it probably would have ruined my future career as an auditor, which I actually really enjoy. Oh, and then we had sex, which was great, but occurred under slightly dubious circumstances. So, all told it kind of looks like you were using me the whole entire time. And now you’re saying that you’re going to just trail after me wherever I go despite the fact that I’m still not entirely certain of your motives. And you’re saying we’re somehow magically bonded in two different ways, the mates thing and the anchor thing.”

It didn’t seem like Derek knew what to say to that at first, but eventually he spoke in a quiet, careful voice. “Stiles, is there anything I can do that will help you to forgive me? Would you like remote access to my phone? My computer? You can track me or watch me or whatever you want.”

Stiles’ brow furrowed. They were quickly encroaching on some pretty skeevy territory and he wasn’t sure how the other man had gotten there, or how he even considered those suggestions as valid. “Uh, no to all of that, actually. Derek, I get that you’re upset that I’m upset, but acting like this is weirdly submissive of you and while I’m game for that in bed, sometimes,” like the previous night, “that’s not what I want from you. I want us to be equals, not to do this kind of weird power play thing we apparently have going on. And look, I’m sorry about how I handled our dream last night, I know we didn’t talk about that kind of thing beforehand and I wasn’t really thinking about kink negotiations or anything and we don’t even have a safeword, which is kind of a mandatory part of engaging in sexytimes in my book, so that’s absolutely my fault. Do you want to talk about any of it?”

“I could have stopped you,” Derek said in a quiet sort of grumble.

Stiles huffed out a laugh as he pulled the plug, watching the slightly murky water drain. He knew he still wasn’t the cleanest after having stewed in there with the dust and junk floating around, but he at least felt better than he had, stronger, too.

“That’s really not the point, Derek. Jesus, we have a lot to work on with our communication skills. I thought it was mostly you, no offense, like I said before you’re kind of the silent broody type, but I’ve clearly got things to sort out, too. So, against my better judgement I’m going to offer you a kind of a peace offering. It’s clear we have a lot of shit going on in our lives at this moment in time, most of which is completely over my head with the mates and magic and whatever, but I'm pretty positive you’re not some evil psychopath so I think we can at least move up our stance as allies to tentative friends if you’re willing to work with me on this. On the whole _using our words_ thing.”

It really did go against his better judgement, which was completely torn between screaming obscenities at the stupid werewolf and throwing the man bodily onto any flat surface so he could have his dirty way with him and those dueling impulses were probably not all that great for his mental or physical well being.

“You want to be friends?” Derek asked, like that had been the most incredible thing Stiles could have said to him.

He stretched up to pull down a towel and lazily wiped the water from his limbs. “Looks that way.”

“I’d like that,” Derek admitted softly. “I have to go, my plane leaves in a few minutes, but I’ll call you when I’m in Beacon Hills.”

And _what_?

“You’re coming here _tonight_?” Stiles asked, kind of baffled by how quickly Talia seemed to get things done. She hadn’t been joking when she’d told him she was sending Derek.

“I should be there around midnight. If you’re sleeping I’ll wait until tomorrow to call.”

"Okay," Stiles said faintly, not really knowing how else to respond. He stood up on only slightly shaky legs and finished drying off. "Safe travels, Derek."

"I'll speak to you soon, Stiles," Derek promised.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unlike canon!Derek, my Derek doesn't have THE MOST TRAGIC BACKSTORY OF ALL TIME. So, yeah, there's that.


	7. Chapter 7

He didn’t end up going grocery shopping, but Stiles was still able to whip up a batch of brownies from the random leftover baking stuff he’d squirreled away in the back of the pantry, and he may or may not have made a couple dozen peanut butter cookies, but those were hidden in his room so his dad wouldn’t get into them. Yeah, Stiles was well versed in the sheriff’s tendency to snoop around the house for food-related contraband, but they’d long ago reached an agreement about Stiles’ space and need for privacy. Neither one of them had been able to look each other in the eye after the infamous lotion incident of his sophomore year of high school. So, yeah, the cookies were safe.

He'd baked and cleaned up and slowly worked up the strength to climb up and down the stairs without having to pause and pant for breath, so that was a bonus. His dad called and agreed to pick him up and drive them to the McCall's which was a relief, even though Stiles was going to have to face the inevitable flirtation thing his dad and Melissa had going on, and that apparently required the sheriff to keep spoons in his freezer. Which, ick. No. Definitely not a thing Stiles was dwelling on, though he had enjoyed sharing his revelation with Scott, and that was never not going to be hilarious.

In the lapse between him being ready and his dad swinging by the house, Stiles actually had a little while to breathe. He stared down at his phone and considered, then thought _fuck it_ and dialed.

"Deaton speaking," the familiar voice said on the line.

"Uh, hey, Doc, this is Stiles and I know this is kind of a crazy random thing to do, but I'm just going to go ahead and say it and then you can do with that knowledge what you will," he said in a rush and did he always need to use so many words because that seemed a bit excessive.

"Stiles," Deaton replied with his seemingly perpetual unruffled calm, "Does this have anything to do with the Hales? I heard they're coming back to town quite unexpectedly, and Scott hasn’t stopped talking about your sudden arrival, either."

He ran a hand through his hair, "Yeah, yeah it does." And of course Scott would tell Deaton, not that it really mattered since it wasn’t like Stiles was keeping it a secret or anything. The circumstances of _why_ were still under wraps, though.

"Go ahead, then."

He took a fortifying breath. "So, yeah, it turns out I'm a spark." He bit his lip and waited.

Deaton was quiet for a long moment before he made a considering noise. Maybe it was just a _people who associated with the Hales_ thing, the use of noises instead of actual words. Stiles would have to look into that. "You take after your mother, then, we weren't certain if that would be the case."

And _of course_ there were a host of supernaturally-inclined individuals who had discussed his possible use of magic when he'd had no idea it was even an option. Stiles sighed. "Can't say that surprises me, but yeah, so I'm a spark. What can you tell me about it?"

"Well, Stiles, there's a lot to tell. And show, for that matter, but may I ask why you sought me out when it's clear you have a connection with the Hale family? Why haven't you gone to Talia with your questions?"

Which wasn't exactly something he had an answer to, or at least not a very good one. "Uh, that's kind of because of Derek," he admitted.

Deaton made a _go on_ noise.

Stiles sighed and told himself that if he wanted help he was going to have to do what the man said, even if it meant digging himself deeper into the relational hole he was in. "Yeah, so it looks like Derek's my anchor," Stiles said.

Unhelpfully, Deaton gave a low whistle. "That is quite rare if it is, indeed, the case. May I ask what makes you think so?"

"The Hales think it's true, too." Stiles felt inclined to mention. "There was something about sharing dreams-"

"You and Derek have had the same dreams? Did these instances occur when the two of you were together or separated?" There was a sudden intensity in his voice that Stiles hadn’t heard before and that kind of put him on edge a little bit.

And sure, Derek had mentioned something about anchors and vagued a bit about the importance of the whole dream thing, but Stiles didn’t really see the significance. Though it wasn’t as if he were some magical guru who apparently specialized in werewolves, so his opinion wasn’t even all that valid. "Uh, both,” he said, frowning.

"Then it's an excellent thing that you've contacted me. How many of these events have occurred?"

Stiles thought about it, but it seemed like just the two. The one with his mom and then the kinky sex one, which still made him blush when he thought about it. "Two, once when we were together and again when we weren't."

Deaton made the contemplative noise again. "That's fortunate, I'm glad it hasn't progressed too rapidly, but you're going to have to work on controlling your abilities or the two of you risk losing yourselves in each other, though the chance is lessened considerably because of Derek's nature."

"You mean his werewolfiness?" Stiles asked, pretty much just putting his cards on the table.

"Indeed," Deaton replied, clearly amused.

Stiles ran a hand over the back of his neck, not sure whether or not to bring up the other half of the situation.

"What is it, Stiles?" the other man asked calmly and he just kind of had to stare at the phone for a second because really?

He sighed. His _life_.

"And it kinda looks like I'm Derek's mate?"

Deaton was silent. Which, was mildly alarming because while he wasn't necessarily a wordy guy, per se, he wasn't a sphinx, either. Stiles opened his mouth to repeat himself or ask what was going on or something when the other man finally spoke.

"Well, that certainly changes things, doesn't it? I assume that Derek is nearby? I can't imagine Talia would keep the two of you separated given the delicate circumstances of your relationship."

And really, Deaton had no idea how _delicate_ their relationship was. "Yeah, about that. You see, I kinda ran off during the full moon while they were on lockdown and then I came home to Beacon Hills, but Derek's on his way, apparently. He should be here later tonight."

"And have you done anything unusual since you've been separated?" Deaton asked with a hint more intensity than Stiles was used to hearing from him.

"Uh, I made the front door to the Hale house open," he said slowly.

Deaton whispered something under his breath about sparks and anchors and maybe stupidity? Stiles didn't quite catch all of it, but he was pretty certain it wasn’t entirely flattering. Then, "Stiles, it is imperative that you not use your talents until Derek is near enough to anchor you properly. You could potentially cause yourself irreparable harm."

"Harm like?" Stiles asked because he was nothing if not curious.

"It could kill you, destroy your body, strip you of your personality, twist your spirit."

And really, Deaton could have stopped at death and Stiles would have gotten the picture. He said as much, but the other man ignored him.

"This is something you're going to have to learn to control. It's oddly fortunate that your anchor is a werewolf, it makes it much easier for him to recover should you cast by accident."

"Recover? What does _that_ mean? Are you saying I’m going to hurt him or something?” And that wasn’t a thought that gave him warm fuzzies.

But before he could get an answer his dad walked in the front door and twirled his finger in an indication that they were leaving.

"Crap, sorry, can I come by the clinic sometime so we can talk more about this?" he asked, getting to his feet and going to grab the brownies from the kitchen counter. He had to hip check his dad to keep him from sampling, then rubbed his own side because he hasn't thought through the whole _his dad wore a gunwhile on duty_ thing. He pointed at it and the sheriff rolled his eyes, but disappeared down the hall to put it in the safe.

"Tomorrow after we close should work. And Stiles, try to bring Derek with you, we have a lot to talk about. Things both of you need to hear."

Stiles nodded as he stretched cellophane over the brownies, "Sure thing, Doc, see ya then."

He should have guessed his and Derek's mystical connection was going to cause problems for the two of them. Because of course it would. He was walking to the door when he remembered that he still didn't know how to handle the Chris situation.

"Shit," he told the brownies. They didn't disagree.

  
  


Yep, dinner was going to be an awkward affair, Stiles could already tell and he’d just walked in the McCall’s front door. Well, he’d tried to walk in the door, but Scott hadn’t really let him because apparently he’d needed to wrap Stiles in a bone-grinding hug, actually physically lifting him off the ground and yoga had done some great things for the guy’s strength he noticed as he tried to breath through the squeeze.

“Hey dude, good to see you, too. Would ya mind putting me down, now?” Stiles wheezed.

Scott finally complied, and held him by the shoulders at arm’s length and his brow furrowed. “Stiles, your face is almost back to normal, how did that happen? You were all bruised and stuff yesterday.”

And shit, he had been, but he forced a smile and shrugged. “Frozen spoons, Scott, frozen spoons. Hey, help me get the brownies, I forgot them in the car.”

But then his dad walked past them, pan in hand and a smug look on his face.

"I'm going to check those," Stiles informed him, pointing a finger at the pan, "You only get one, that’s the deal."

The sheriff greeted Scott warmly and ignored his son.

"Typical," Stiles muttered fondly then wrapped an arm around his friend's shoulders, "Come on, Scottie, let's get this party started."

Scott leaned against him and it was kind of awesome that they were finally in the same place at the same time after months of being apart. He’d missed his best friend, and while video-chatting was awesome, it just wasn’t the same. There was certainly something to be said for actual physical contact. It kind of soothed the ache of loneliness.

"Good to have you home, man,” his friend said with an easy grin, “You won't believe why we had in the clinic the other day-"

Stiles greeted the others and listened and chatted and smiled and ate and very much avoided all talk of what he was suddenly doing in Beacon Hills, even though Scott kept openly staring at the greenish bruise on his cheek like the not finding out about what had happened was causing him physical pain. Melissa and Allison asked a lot of questions about his yoga classes, which he gushed about, though he kind of glossed over Derek's involvement as much as he could. Chris was nearly silent the entire meal, only occasionally trading words with the others, though he wasn't exactly known for being super chatty, so whatever.

Overall, it went better than Stiles had been expecting, not that he’d thought Chris was going to start interrogating him as they ate the meatloaf, or anything, but still. It was a kind of nice break in the Argent intensity Stiles had been subjected to over the previous weeks. Of course it didn’t last, though, because that’s just the way his life seemed to operate.

Stiles stood up to go get the brownies from where his dad had left them on the kitchen counter and immediately knew he’d made a mistake.

"Let me help you," Chris said, already rising from his seat so it wasn't like Stiles could tell him no or anything without sounding weird. He gave the man a hopefully convincing smile and let him lead the way around the short hallway into the kitchen where he promptly found himself pressed against the fridge door with Chris' forearm across his throat.

Stiles initial reaction would have been to knee him in the balls and drop the fucker, but the somewhat rational part of his kind screamed that it was Allison's dad in front of him and that he wasn't likely to survive whatever fallout came from that kind of violence. Especially since the guy had an arsenal of weapons at his disposal and was extremely proficient at using all of them. Still, Stiles sputtered and tried to look as surprised as he should have felt if he'd had nothing to hide, but from Chris' expression he only had limited success.

“Tell me who killed my sister,” the man demanded, his pale blue eyes filled with rage. “I know you were there, so don’t bother lying about it.”

And if he knew that much it probably meant he’d been at least somewhat aware of Kate’s unhealthy interest in Stiles and that was so much bullshit he could hardly stand it. All that time Chris had been warning him away from the Hales when it was his own flesh and blood that had made a moves against him and that was just _wrong_.

Stiles tried to swallow, gritting his teeth and glaring at the man, as his face flushed from anger and the iron bar of bone and muscle held across his throat. “Let me go,” he said, actually contemplating what it would take to use some of his electric magic stuff to zap the fucker away from him, even though Deaton had pretty much told him that was a huge no-no.

Chris shook his head. “Tell me.” It was evident that he wasn’t going to back down until he got what he wanted, so Stiles gave it to him, to an extent.

“Your sister fired a rifle at my head,” he hissed, “she was fucking insane and she died because of it, but I didn’t kill her.”

The other man scoffed. “If my sister had shot you, you’d be dead,” he said with absolute certainty, but his grip loosened enough for Stiles to actually breathe again and he pushed firmly against the man’s chest until he took a complete step back.

“Clearly I didn’t die,” he said hoarsely, resisting the urge to press a hand to his throat as if he could check for damage that way. “But your sister did, and if you want to know more about that you can read the police report where I was interviewed about the crimes she and Gerard committed against me and others. Now, are you going to keep assaulting me with the Beacon Hills Sheriff just down the hall, or do you want to grab the ice cream,” Stiles said, his voice rough and his hands shaking from the unexpected adrenaline rush.

Chris was watching him, like he was looking for a lie, but Stiles just met his gaze with a steely expression of his own. He was tired of being bullied by assholes and was finally in a position to take a stand against it. The other man eventually caved, and, still watching Stiles, opened the freezer to grab the cartons.

“We’re not finished with this discussion,” he warned.

Stiles huffed out a breath, of course they weren’t. “Wouldn’t dream of it,” he said wryly, taking the pan of brownies and leaving the other man behind.

Scott gave him a bit of a weird look when he came back into the room, but he seemed to quickly forget about it because of brownies. Stiles was even feeling generous enough to overlook his dad’s second helping, though he did give the older man a look that said he hadn’t missed what had happened. Melissa laughed at the exchange, but asked Allison something about the baby before the sheriff could comment. Bless her.

Things wound down after that, until they were all sitting back in their chairs, full and satisfied and then Scott just couldn’t seem to contain himself any longer.

“Why are you in Beacon Hills? Were you fired? Are you on the run? Is your dad harboring you as a fugitive because that's supposed to be pretty against the law, right?"

Everyone just kind of looked at Scott with slightly stunned expressions before they turned to Stiles, clearly eager to hear his take on things.

“Wow, way to be subtle, man,” Stiles said, but he knew he couldn’t really be mad. Had their situations been reversed he probably would have sat on Scott until he’d told him everything. “So, okay, yeah. Well, I’m here for now, obviously. I don’t think I’m really able to go into detail about the stuff that went down,” he checked with his dad and the man nodded in agreement. “So I’ll just say everything’s working out and I think my job’s going to let me off for a little while to recuperate and all that. Otherwise we’re probably going to have to wait until the official reports come out for me to talk about it in more detail. I know that’s not really an answer, but it’s the best I can give at the moment.” The last he kind of addressed to Chris, who didn’t seem impressed by Stiles’ vagueness. But whatever, that wasn’t his problem, well, until it was. He definitely wasn’t looking forward to their inevitable confrontation. Their second confrontation, actually.

So that was going to suck.

Stiles didn't let his dad have thirds, and got the evil eye for his meddling. Shortly afterward everyone said their farewells and they left, both Stilinskis yawning and neither really feeling up to having an in-depth discussion, so the drive home was unexpectedly peaceful. It was a pretty nice evening, Chris’ psycho Argent reaction notwithstanding.

  
  


Stiles woke with a start, not sure what had caused him to jolt into sudden consciousness, but then he noticed a sudden cold breeze that was out of place and an odd dark shape in his room by the apparently open window, but before he could shout or defend himself or do much of anything a hot hand clamped over his mouth while another pressed against his chest to hold him down.

“It’s okay, it’s me,” Derek’s voice said, his eyes flashing blue for an instant and then Stiles finally managed to free his arms, which had gotten burritoed in his blanket, and he punched the other man in the shoulder with one hand as he peeled the fingers from off his face with the other.

“Are you fucking shitting me, Derek?” he hissed, then realized his fist had made contact with skin instead of clothing and- “Dude. are you seriously naked right now?” he asked slowly, not at all sure about what Derek had come there expecting, but Stiles was not quite ready to engage in sexy times with him again, especially since he’d declared them friends and nothing more. For the time being, at least.

Derek made a frustrated noise, letting his fingertips linger against Stiles’ hand before he stepped back. Even in the darkness it was clear he was stark naked, the pale light of the waning moon casting him in gorgeous silhouette. “I shifted near the airport and ran here in my wolf form. Carrying my clothes would had slowed me down," he said, like that was a valid explanation of his behavior.

“Please tell me you didn’t fly into LAX,” Stiles said, mind boggling at the distance the other man must have run, how exhausted he must be after that, but was probably too proud or whatever to admit it. The idiot.

He could just make out Derek shaking his head, “No, I caught a connecting flight to Sacramento, so it wasn’t quite that far.” But still far enough that Stiles’ legs ached in sympathy.

“Well,” he said, his own pathetic yearning to cuddle dueling with his rational insistence that they keep things strictly professional. He settled on what was hopefully some sort of middle ground. “Boxers and pajama pants are in the bottom drawer, though I’m not sure if any of them will fit you. Shower’s across the hall if you want it. My dad’s a heavy sleeper after working overnight, so don’t worry about waking him. Hurry up, though, I’m tired.” He punctuated his instructions by rolling over and drawing the covers back over his shoulder.

Derek huffed and walked around the bed, opening the drawer and quietly riffling through the clothes until he apparently found what he wanted. “I’ll be right back,” he said, unnecessarily, and Stiles still had to bite back a smile.

Sure enough, the shower only ran for a minute before it cut off and then Derek’s warm, slightly damp body was settling next to him on the too-small bed.

“Get under the covers,” Stiles whined, scooting further toward the edge to make room for the bigger man. There really wasn’t any comfortable way for them to fit unless at least some spooning was involved, so he hoped Derek figured that out sooner rather than later because Stiles was pretty eager to get back to sleep. “Still can’t believe you ran here in your wolf form,” he said around a yawn.

Behind him, Derek finally got with the program and slid under the blankets, but seemed to not know what to do after that, so he just kind of laid there stock-still and awkward.

“Dude,” Stiles breathed, reaching back blindly until he found a warm, silky-haired arm and dragged it around his waist, though the man still made no move to close the distance between them or to stop being lame. “Don’t make this weird. I magicked earlier today and I’ve had a hard time keeping my eyes open, since. Charge me up, man, my batteries are low.”

He could feel Derek’s warm breath as it ghosted across the back of his neck in a silent laugh. The arm tightened around his waist and drew him back until he was pressed against the warm hard lines of Derek’s chest. And that was pretty much perfect.

Stiles settled into it, not even caring to analyze how blissed out and content he felt at the contact, or how his stomach jumped when Derek’s hand slipped under his shirt and moved up to rest over the scarred skin on his chest.

“Something happen earlier?” Derek asked because he clearly didn’t understand how much Stiles just wanted to pass out in the cocoon of warmth they had going on. Uncharacteristically, it kind of seemed like the other man was willing to use his words, but Stiles was so ready to just be quiet and enjoy himself that it was kind of a bummer, actually.

He groaned and wriggled to get more comfortable, dragging Derek’s other arm under his neck so he could hold onto the man’s wrist and feel his steady pulse. “The Chris thing,” he finally admitted, “but it’s fine.”

At least for that moment it was, Stiles was under no illusions about their confrontation being over, though. Once Chris got ahold of the report he would no doubt seek Stiles out and demand the actual explanation of events, since apparently he came from a family of psychotic werewolf hunters and must have known about the Hales.

Derek’s nose traced across the skin on the side of his neck, his chin hooking over Stiles’ shoulder, stubble bristling across his shirt, and then he was growling, a quiet, thrumming noise that made goose flesh erupt across Stiles’ skin. “This,” he said, the hand under Stiles’ shirt collar sliding up to trace over the skin of his neck, which felt a bit tender despite the gentle touch, though the slight pain dissipated almost instantly upon contact. “This is not _fine_ , Stiles.”

He really didn’t want to get into it. Stiles wasn’t ready to have that kind of discussion with Derek, not after the general weirdness of the day and the stuff Deaton had said and implied and how Chris had reacted and so he twisted in Derek’s arms until they were face to face, his shirt awkwardly rucked up because of the other man’s hand under it but whatever.

“Derek,” he said quietly, barely even able to make out the man’s features in the dark, so he slid his hands up to grip the stubbled cheeks. Derek was frowning, which wasn’t really a surprise at all. “We can talk about that tomorrow, but I’m tired right now and if you keep pushing it I might say something stupid or mean, so can we please drop this until morning? Preferably after breakfast since I’m not much of a morning person as you well know.”

He slid a hand up so he could feel Derek’s brow furrow, and had to bite back a smile at how predictable the man’s expression of malcontent was.

“Fine,” the werewolf grumbled, not sounding at all pleased with the turn of events, though his arms tightened around Stiles’ shoulder and back, anyway. “But we _will_ talk about it tomorrow, and you’ll tell me everything.”

“And you’ll have to tell me where you left your clothes and phone because I really don’t feel like driving to Sacramento to go get them,” Stiles said sleepily, shifting so one of his arms was between them, his hand splayed on Derek’s chest, and the other was wrapped around the man’s waist, then he tucked his head down in the crook of Derek’s neck by where his shoulder was resting on the bed. It was the perfect spot, really, warm and dark and Derek smelled like Stiles’ soap and that made him smile against the soft skin there.

“Sleep well, Stiles,” the other man whispered against the side of his head.

“Mmm,” he grunted in reply.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll admit it, I had to have a brownie and ice cream tonight because of this chapter...so that's me...
> 
> I'm at ravingrevolution.tumblr.com if you want to check out all the Sterek feels I reblog! Oh, and I mention the stories I write sometimes...


	8. Chapter 8

Normally, after working overnight and then the next day, his dad slept until at least late morning, but of course that wasn’t the case when Stiles’ dumb werewolf magical charger station slash probably mate showed up and slipped into his bed in the middle of the night. Oh no, the sheriff couldn’t sleep in on a day like that, he had to be up early and knock on Stiles’ door, then enter without waiting for a response. Because that was how his life worked, apparently.

“Stiles?” his dad said, sounding amused and worried all at once.

He smooshed his face against the pillow and tried to will the other man away, then promptly remembered the half-naked werewolf in his bed and flailed for a second before he realized he was actually laying there alone and that Derek was- Stiles looked around wide eyed, blinking stupidly at the sudden brightness- apparently in the middle of doing his freaky superhuman calisthenics while eating the cookies Stiles had squirreled away.

"Dude, those aren't a breakfast food," he said, brain struggling to keep up with all the new data points and he just wanted to go back to sleep but his dad was looming in the doorway and Derek was still half-naked on the floor, though he was at least sporting Stiles' old Beacon Hills High sweatpants that had never really stayed up on him, but hugged the more muscular man's body quite nicely and Stiles was fairly certain Derek had foregone underwear and it was entirely too early for any of that.

"It's too early for this," Stiles said, burying his head under the pillow.

"Sheriff," he heard Derek say.

"Derek," the man responded evenly, then, happier, "Thanks."

Curious, he peeked and promptly scoffed and flung the pillow at the werewolf. "Dude, don't enable him! He had two brownies last night!"

Derek, of course, caught the pillow with his free hand and tossed it back to him _without looking_ , and _still_ managed to peg Stiles in the face. The asshole. He didn't offer the sheriff another cookie, though, so that was okay, at least. And it kind of looked like he'd decimated that container of them pretty much all by himself.

"You weren't kidding about liking those, were you?" he asked, kind of amazed that Derek seemed to still have the fortitude to do sit-ups _while eating the last of the cookies_.

He nodded, “These were always my favorite. Anya would bring them sometimes when she came to the house and she’d always make Laura and me split them.”

“Lucky for you your sister isn’t in town, yet. Wait, is she? Are she and Erica driving here from Wisconsin? And what’s up, Dad? Why are you just standing there? Why is everyone awake so early?”

“Is he always this talkative?” Derek asked with a sort of smile and the sheriff chuckled, very obviously not staring at Derek’s completely toned and slightly glistening body.

“Just wait till he gets started, though I’m sure you’ve probably suffered the brunt of more than one of Stiles’ yammering jags. And as for you,” he said, looking at Stiles with a smirk, “I’m making bacon with breakfast and you’re not allowed to say anything about it because you didn’t tell me we had a guest coming over last night. Now get dressed, you’re helping me clean the gutters after we eat. Derek, you’re invited as well.”

“To breakfast or to help you outside?” he asked, actually smiling. And Stiles couldn’t help but stare. He’d never imagined the two of them getting along so well, but it kind of figured that his dad and magically bonded yoga partner would be thick as thieves because his life was a series of slightly uncomfortable random happenstances.

“Both,” the sheriff said cheerfully, and pointedly closed the door behind him with a shit-eating grin.

"What a jerk," Stiles muttered, but it kind of looked like Derek was working on holding back a laugh, so he just rolled his eyes and dragged himself out of bed, suddenly realizing that his shirt was missing and his scarred chest was just out there for anyone to see. "Dude, Derek, come on," he groaned, crossing his arms, not that it actually covered much of anything, then bent to look on either side of the bed for where it could have gotten to.

Derek stopped what he was doing, some kind of modified sit-up, to watch him. "It's on the chair," he said quietly, "though I don't know why you feel the need to cover yourself, you have a nicely defined core."

"Which is riddled with stab marks," he replied, still kind of tired and definitely more than a little grumpy. Stiles hated waking up to a conversation, he could never keep his brain on track. Plus, their apparent topic of choice was certainly not one Stiles would have chosen regardless of the hour or his state of wakefulness.

“You were getting too warm last night, so I took it off of you,” Derek said quietly. “ Stiles, I’m sorry if it makes you uncomfortable, but you should know that you have nothing to be ashamed of, certainly not when you’re around me.”

Stiles stared at him, struck by the raw sincerity in Derek’s expression and voice. It was a sweet sentiment, but the other man had kind of proven that he wasn’t exactly the most objective person in the world when it came to Stiles, so there was that to take into account, and the whole shirtlessness thing was still a definite no.

"Werewolves don't scar, do they?" he asked because it was also pretty clear that Derek was missing the point and he hadn’t seen anything but flawless skin on the man, plus his tattoo, which was a topic of discussion for another time.

Derek seemed mildly baffled by the question, but shook his head no, anyway.

Stiles sighed. "So here's the thing, this," he said, pointing at the pale scar tissue, "this is a constant visual reminder of the fact that I fucked up. No," held up a hand to stop whatever it was Derek was about to interject, "let me finish. I’ve proven time and again that I’m an awful judge of character when it comes to relationships. I’ve accidentally dated a drug dealer, then an emotionally abusive asshole, after that was a serial cheater, and finally a complete psychopath who was literally going to eat my heart in a fucked up black magic ritual. These scars,” he tapped his chest, “these are just the ones I have on the outside, but they’re a powerful reminder of how the decisions I make tend to end in tears. I’m not saying it’s always going to be that way,” he added because Derek was starting to look seriously put-out, “just that I can’t ever forget what happened to me. My body literally won’t let me because I see these every single day. So for me, being shirtless and knowing other people are looking at them, too, it brings up all of those bad memories and I would really rather not wallow in regret all the time. But thanks for the compliment, I guess.”

Derek stood gracefully and closed the distance between them, a considering look on his face. “May I?” he said, nodding to the puckered flesh.

Stiles nodded and dropped his arms to his sides, not quite sure what the other man was going to do, but trusting him not to cross any lines.

Derek put his large, hot palm against the skin and as Stiles watched, thin tendrils of black crept up his veins into his arm.

“Wha-”

“Just watch,” Derek said tightly, and eventually the black faded and so did the tenderness Stiles had absently been feeling across his throat from where Chris had assaulted him.

“Oh,” he said faintly. The pain drain thing. That was never not going to be cool.

Derek didn’t move his hand, so Stiles looked up at him and the tender expression on the man’s face.

“You didn’t have to do that,” he said because he wasn’t sure what else to say.

“As long as I’m nearby, you won’t be in pain,” Derek said and it was clearly more than just a promise of physical comfort, it was _much_ more.

Stiles swallowed, not quite ready to address that proclamation. “Are you going to ask me about the Chris thing, now?”

Derek shrugged, “Not until you want to talk about it. I’m sorry I pushed so much last night, but smelling your pain and his scent on you made me react without considering your feelings or the fact that you probably weren’t ready to have the discussion at that hour. I want you to be able to trust me, and I’ll wait for you to come to me with things like that in the future. Well,” he amended, “I’ll try, but I expect you to ask for help as well, especially if you’re feeling pain or discomfort.”

He nodded, kind of overwhelmed and a bit lost as to what was going on between them. Something monumental, Stiles thought, but he knew he’d have to take some time to think and analyze what Derek had said before he’d be able to really comprehend it. Also, he’d just woken up and it was a lot to take in.

“Why did you hide the cookies in your room?” Derek asked randomly, raising both of his arms and stretching up onto his toes. Stiles knew he probably should look away from the incredible display, but he was still barely functioning and didn’t seem to have control over his own body at that moment.

“Because of the lotion incident,” he replied honestly, finally struggling into his shirt. It took him a few failures to get it on and then he just kind of stood there, definitely not entirely awake or ready to do anything else at the moment but just kind of stand there and exist.

Plus Derek was front of him, chest and abs damp from his workout and Stiles wondered how long he’d been at it before the sheriff had woken Stiles up.

“The lotion incident?” he asked, like he was curious, but could already tell the story wasn’t going to end well.

Stiles glanced up at his face, suddenly aware he’d been shamelessly checking the man out. “Huh? Oh, yeah, when I was in high school. He was snooping around my room for drugs or whatever and stumbled upon some things we would both rather not remember me having. We call it the lotion incident because that was the least traumatizing of the objects in question.”

He involuntarily looked over at his headboard where he’d unimaginatively stored the items. Stiles was pretty sure most of them were in a shoebox under his bed in Chicago, but he could have accidentally left one or two behind. He’d acquired quite a collection, really, though it had been a long while since he’d used any of them.

Derek’s eyes followed his gaze and it kind of seemed as if he was sniffing the air, like he’d be able to distinguish the smell of silicone and plastic and leather. Which, hey, he probably could and Stiles was suddenly really curious about what he’d left behind, if anything.

“And now he doesn’t go looking through your things?” the other man asked.

Stiles shrugged, “If he does I don’t know about it, but seeing that those cookies were still around for you to find I’m going to go with a no. How did you find those, anyway?”

“I smelled them as soon as I got here last night.”

He smirked, “Got here as in snuck in through my window? Yeah, well I guess I should be honored that you came to bed right away instead of taking a cookie break, first.”

And _really_?

He couldn’t actually believe the things that came out of his mouth, sometimes.

“Whatever,” he continued in a rush, “it’s too early for this. I don’t know what’s going on, anymore. I think I need breakfast or a nap or something.”

Derek smiled, shaking his head fondly. “You should stretch, come on, you’ll feel better afterward, I promise.”

And damnit if Stiles didn’t automatically following his lead as they went through half a dozen simple yoga poses in the soft morning light. It was so easy to fall into it with Derek, their familiarity with each other making it almost effortless for them to move in the limited space of Stiles’ bedroom. Sure enough, he slowly began to feel more centered, his breathing deep and even to match Derek’s and his mind gradually clearing of the normal jumbled clutter that often plagued him when he first woke up.

“Still not going to get me to do push-ups,” Stiles said as they ended their little routine.

Derek shrugged easily, which unfairly emphasized the smooth lines of his collarbones and shoulders and that was quite a view, really. He definitely rocked the whole topless thing, and Stiles was seriously not bummed that it was unlikely any of his shirts would fit the broader man. “That’s up to you, but it certainly helps me start the day off right.”

“Isn’t that a cereal slogan or something?” Stiles asked as he went to his dresser and dug through it for something Derek could possibly wear. “Oh, hey, so what happened to your clothes? If you told me last night I forgot. Pretty sure I was too busy trying to burrow my way into the bed to get some more sleep and stopped paying attention at some point.”

“You were drooling on my shoulder, actually,” Derek said with a chuckle, so at least he wasn’t mad, though Stiles was definitely blushing. “As for my clothes, I’d brought a collapsible bag with postage on it with me when I flew in and used it to ship what I was wearing to the house.”

That, that was actually pretty clever.

“Wow, okay, so do you know when it’ll get there?”

Derek shrugged. “It was marked as urgent, so hopefully today. I don’t think you have any other pants that will fit me,” he said as Stiles came out of his search of the drawers empty-handed.

They both glanced down at the sweats and yeah, he definitely wasn’t wearing underwear. Stiles looked away before he did something regrettable like point that out or continue to stare at what was clearly the outline of Derek’s flaccid cock visible through the light gray fabric.

“Uh, you might be able to wear some of my dad’s old clothes, or, hey, I have some basketball shorts that should fit you,” he said, moving to the closet so he could get away from the werewolf and his freakishly perfect physique. “And seriously, you don’t have to do the gutter thing, that’s the kind of stuff my dad makes me do when he thinks he’s won an arguement, or knows I won’t protest because I’m feeling guilty or whatever.”

“Why would you be feeling guilty?” Derek asked, trailing after him.

Stiles shrugged, digging through the general disorder which he knew had, at one point, held his old shorts that he’d had to cinch as tight as they could go to keep them from falling off of him and so he hadn’t worn them that often, not unless he had no other clean clothes at the time. “Making him worry, showing up out of the blue, breaking the law, you know, the usual suspects. Ah, here you go.” Stiles turned to give them to Derek, but the man was just right there, so close he had to take a step back, but there wasn’t really anywhere to go since they were both in his closet and that joke pretty much wrote itself. Instead, they were pretty much pressed together, Derek's hot chest brushing against Stiles' shirt, their hips almost flush.

“Uh, this some kind of a werewolf thing?” Stiles guessed because Derek and the others had proven that they didn’t always adhere to normal social constructs like keeping an appropriate distance while interacting with Stiles, which he was generously willing to chalk up to werewolfiness instead of just a basic etiquette failure.

“Your scent is heavily concentrated in here,” Derek said, his voice a little deeper than normal and his eyes flashed blue and woah, okay, so yeah those pants did absolutely nothing to hide the man’s sudden interest, and neither did his super close proximity.

Stiles cleared his throat and looked Derek in the eyes instead of pointing out how the man's cock was hardening against his hip. “That’s probably because I was kind of a gross teenager and would go weeks without washing my dirty laundry, which I kept in here. So, I’m going to go take a quick shower and then get dressed and all that jazz, unless you want to shower first?”

Derek didn’t seem to want to do anything other than breathe in the smell of what Stiles assumed was stale funk and the lingering odor of his old lacrosse gear he’d stashed in there for a few years before he’d gotten around to cleaning it.

“Yeah, okay,” he said, brushing against Derek and his, whatever, Stiles wasn’t going to dwell on that, it was a perfectly normal bodily reaction to arousal. He quickly dug out some clothes from the dresser and fled the room, leaving Derek to deal with his situation in private.

It wasn’t until Stiles was under the hot spray of the shower that he realized how much Derek being turned on turned him on. Hell, the guy had just _smelled_ Stiles and it had evoked that kind of a reaction and Derek was right there across the hall, but Stiles was already hard just from that brief exchange and _fuck it_.

He took himself in hand, then paused when the friction was too much and quickly squeezed some soap onto his palm to ease the slide. Stiles closed his eyes and thought about the smooth lines of Derek’s shoulders and back and the swirled tattoo he wanted to bite and lick and the hot hand against his chest and how the man's tongue and teeth felt against his skin and soon he was breathing heavily, biting his lip to keep from moaning at the memory of their dream and the way Derek’s eyes flashed blue when he was aroused and the feel of his claws against Stiles’ skin when they’d fucked on his dresser.

He was breathing heavily as he remembered the way Derek had taken care of him when he’d been too weak to function and that masturbatroy exercize was getting into some tricky territory, but the memory did nothing to dampen his arousal. instead it actually making him quicken his pace with a bitten back whimper. The way Derek’s hands had ghosted across his skin the previous night and how unbelievably well the fit together and how good he felt underneath Stiles when they were doing yoga and Stiles came with a gasp, his come lost in the spray.

He leaned against the cold tiles and caught his breath, knowing that Derek had probably heard everything he’d just done, but he was finding it hard to care about that when he was pretty certain the other man had taken the opportunity to do the same thing in Stiles’ closet. And really, that wasn’t exactly something friends did, have erotic feelings about each other, but he’d never been all that great at maintaining boundaries, so whatever. Though Stiles vowed to keep up the friends thing until they had actually communicated with each other and then maybe, hopefully, they’d be able to progress to something more than that. Or they’d call it quits? Or remain friends?

He sighed and turned off the water.

  
  


The thing was, Stiles hadn't ever really brought home his boy or girlfriends. Sure he'd told his dad if he was seeing someone, but none of them had lasted long enough to be brought home to visit the good sheriff. Well, besides Cassandra, whom his dad had met when he'd gone down to visit Stiles during the summer before the stabbing. He hadn't seemed all that impressed by her, but then again Stiles had been incredibly nervous about the whole meeting and maybe hadn't been the best son or host or anything and actually he should have read between the lines and realized how much his dad had disliked her, not that he would have ever said anything at the time. No, though he'd definitely shared his unimpressed opinion of Derek during Thanksgiving, but then he'd apparently changed his mind?

_Huh_.

Stiles and Derek both pretended like they hadn’t just masturbated to thoughts of each other and tromped down the stairs, Derek's chest and arms bulging under the tight fabric of one of Stiles' old shirts he'd apparently found in the closet. In the dining room right off the kitchen they were immediately met by a set table and a heaping bowl of eggs, enough bacon for an army, and a pile of buttered toast.

"Woah, Dad, what's the occasion?" Stiles asked, moving around him to the fridge to get some milk. He held up the carton to Derek, but the other man shook his head and grabbed his glass to get some water from the tap.

The sheriff watched the exchange with a knowing look, the meddler. "You're home and you brought a _friend_ ," there was a definite emphasis on the word, "Why wouldn't I celebrate?"

Derek's brow furrowed as he turned off the water. "Do you not have much company?" he asked and Stiles wasn't actually sure if it was a legitimately straightforward question or if he was trying to sneakily get more information about Stiles' lack of date-introductions to his dad.

"Oh, Stiles is more of an acquaintances kind of a guy," the sheriff jumped in, and saying it like that made it seem like Stiles was a bit of a player instead of the man’s actual meaning, which was that he didn't have many friends.

And Stiles kind of wanted to bury his head in the sand somewhere and wait for everything to blow over, but knew he had to salvage the conversation somehow. "That's right, Scott's been my best friend since forever and other than him I don't really invite people over. So, yay, breakfast, let's eat."

They both looked amused at his deflection, but followed suit and dug into the surprisingly tasty meal.

“You been cooking a lot?” Stiles asked his dad, nabbing another piece of bacon from the plate between him and Derek. His fingers brushed against a strip under the one he'd taken and Stiles didn't miss the fact that Derek grabbed it with a poor demonstration of nonchalance. They'd definitely have to have a talk about scents.

The sheriff shrugged. "I cook for Melissa, sometimes. I am capable of taking care of myself, you know," he said as he took another piece of toast.

Stiles gave him a skeptical look, though he did actually look healthy enough. "Uh, huh. So gutters?"

"That's right," his dad said brightly. "Make sure you get the ones over the garage, too. I'm pretty sure you missed those last year."

"I didn't," Stiles sputtered, then swallowed and continued, ignoring Derek's clear amusement at their exchange. "I didn't miss the garage, Dad, I keep telling you it's that oak tree, it has, like, ten times more leaves than the rest of the trees around here, it's not my fault they all happen to fall onto the roof there and get swept into the gutters."

"Just don't forget," his dad insisted and Stiles rolled his eyes.

"Sure thing, Pops."

Derek didn't bother to hide his wide smile.

  
  


It came as absolutely no surprise that the werewolf was awesome at cleaning gutters. Stiles had kind of an issue with heights, so he was pretty grateful that Derek seemed more than willing to take the lead on the whole project because there was no way Stiles was letting his dad near the ladder and otherwise that would have just left him to deal with it.

They worked more quickly than he would have imagined, too, with Derek digging the crap out and dropping it into the grass and Stiles working behind him, scooping the mess into trash bags. His dad came out about halfway through and gave Derek’s shirtless back a considering look.

“Some friend you got there,” he told Stiles quietly, clearly unaware of Derek’s super hearing skills, and the man above them gave no outward indication of having heard.

The big faker.

Stiles wiped sweat from his forehead with the back of his arm, grimacing at the greyish brown sludge speckling his glove and skin. Which meant he probably had that crap on his face, too.

_Great_.

“Derek’s good at this kind of stuff,” he said, “and don’t comment about the shirt, you know it didn’t actually fit him. He was about to bust out of it during breakfast and he wasn’t even moving all that much, then. I don’t have anything else that would fit him, so yeah, this is what happened.”

Stiles was pretty sure he heard Derek snort, but when he looked up the guy was just calmly digging more crap from the gutter.

“You could have at least given him gloves,” the sheriff said, continuing to stare up at Derek unabashedly.

“He didn’t want any,” Stiles said. He was actually pretty sure the werewolf was using his claws to get some of the more stubborn debris, so yeah, gloves wouldn’t have worked.

Stiles happened to glance over his shoulder and nearly choked because it was pretty obvious they weren’t the only ones enjoying the view. Several of the older women in the neighborhood who went for walks together were out, moving at a glacial pace as they passed the sheriff’s house, very obviously ogling Derek.

He deliberately turned back around, telling himself that it was highly inappropriate for him to feel jealous, especially since most of the women were old enough to be grandmothers. Derek looked down as he dropped another handful of leaves and twigs, a curious expression on his face.

“You’ve gathered an audience,” he called out, loud enough for the women to hear because he was an asshole.

Derek glanced behind him and it kind of looked like he was blushing and a little uncomfortable at receiving all the attention and then Stiles kind of felt like a dick. His dad had walked down the lawn and was engaging the women in conversation, but Stiles wasn’t sure what they were saying.

“Sorry, that was mean,” he said quietly as Derek turned and got back to work, but Stiles knew he was listening. “And really, it’s not like I can judge, I’m enjoying the view, too. Not that you’re worth is determined by the physical packaging,” he was hasty to add, just digging himself deeper and apparently unable to stop, “because clearly you’re more than that and do you want some water, I’m going to go get you some water.”

He fled the scene, pursued by Derek’s barely audible chuckle and the sound of his dad joking with the neighborhood women.

  
  


"You don't happen to know anything about cars, do you?" Stiles asked as he finished setting the last trash bag full of gutter crap on the curb and walked back toward the house.

Derek quirked a brow sassily from where he was sitting in one of the bottom rungs of the ladder, mostly empty water bottle in hand. He had a few damp leaves stick to the skin of his shins and arms, along with some sludge on his hands, but didn't seem bothered by it. "Why, because I look like a mechanic?"

Maybe a mechanic in a porno, Stiles didn't say, but it actually kind of looked like Derek was feeling defensive about the whole thing, so he raised his hands. "Just a question, dude. Betty's probably going to need some work before she's good to go, and I'd rather pay someone I know to take care of her than that asshole in town."

It kind of looked like Derek was trying to tell if he was lying, but since he really wasn't, the man eventually caved with what could generously be called a look of chagrin. "I’m going to go ahead and assume _Betty_ is your jeep. That kind of thing’s not really my forte, but Laura's good at fixing cars. She and Erica are at the house, so we can ask her to stop by and take a look."

Which was all new information, really. "Wait, when did they get here? Why didn't they pick you up from the airport?"

"Last night and because I didn't ask them to," Derek replied calmly.

Stiles was kind of torn. On the one hand he wanted to get the jeep fixed so he could drive himself around, but on the other he wasn't entirely eager to see the two women and suffer their wrath.

"If you bake her cookies while she takes a look I'm sure Laura would be much more amicable," Derek said, apparently reading Stiles' mind.

He considered it, then frowned. "Except that I need a car to go to town to get the ingredients for the cookies. I barely managed to scrape together the stuff for the ones I made last night, and apparently my dad drove the cruiser home so I can't just use his car." It was a deliberate move to encourage Stiles to deal with the jeep, he realized. His dad was pretty sly like that, sometimes.

Derek's brow furrowed, "Didn't you say you ran to the house yesterday? If we can get there you can borrow our car to do your grocery shopping while Laura takes a look."

Stiles wasn't all that keen to feel beholden to anyone, especially after what he'd done to the Hales, but he really needed his old jeep fixed and also to stock the fridge with non-processed foods.

He sighed, but knew it was for the best. “Yeah, okay, let’s get cleaned up and head to your place. Why put off the inevitable, right?”

Stiles really wasn’t looking forward to the whole Erica and Laura confrontation, but at least Derek was there to help him out, if it came to that. He really hoped there wasn’t going to be another wolfy attack wrestling thing.

It really was probably too much to ask, at that point, though.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this chapter is up a day later than I wanted, but my muse's batteries are recharged! Unfortunately I had no Ginger Bear to cuddle with to speed the process, but what can you do?
> 
> Also, this Derek got cookies because canon Derek has the saddest back-story of all time and I think Derek deserves nice things. So there!


	9. Chapter 9

As soon as they reached the woods Derek slipped off the basketball shorts and handed them to Stiles, who blushed bright red and fumbled with the slippery fabric before he managed to get ahold of it. Derek was definitely going commando. It was distracting.

“You’re not worried about someone seeing you?” he said, glancing around the underbrush so he wouldn’t stare at the other man’s awesomely nude form.

Derek shook out his arms and rolled his ankles. His feet were bare despite the fact that they wore the same sized shoes and that suddenly made more sense, too. It was probably hard to shift if he was wearing sneakers and socks, though it would probably look pretty comical.

“The only scent on this trail is yours,” Derek said, “I might wander a bit, but I’ll be able to see and hear you in case you need anything.”

“ _Anything_ meaning _rescuing_?” Stiles asked wryly. He wasn’t an idiot.

Derek gave him a sassy look in return. “ _Anything_ as in _anything_ , Stiles.”

“Mhm, sure.”

“Keep it up and I might have to lick you,” Derek warned, and then he was a giant fluffy red-orange wolf, his blue eyes blazing unnaturally and beautifully and Stiles couldn’t resist the urge to grin down at him.

“Oh my god, dude, the whole threatening to lick me thing is the opposite of menacing when you look like that. You know how I feel about Ginger Bear cuddles, don’t even pretend you don’t.”

Derek shook his broad head, which made his entire body wiggle and his long tail sweep against the underbrush and Stiles suddenly had the mental image of him carding his fingers through the long fire-colored fur as they curled up in front of the Hale's massive stone fireplace, and that was definitely something he wanted to put on his list of things to do. If Derek let him. He really didn’t think that was going to be an issue.

“Right,” Stiles said, balling the shorts up in his fist so they were easier to hold, “so I’m just going to start jogging, then, and I’ll see ya when I see ya.”

The wolf nodded, and that would have been all kinds of weird if Stiles hadn’t known that it was Derek and not a wild animal who undoubtedly had the capacity to rip his throat out. Which, actually, he’d done that. Stiles had seen the aftermath, but didn’t feel at all uncomfortable around the guy despite that fact. Being around Derek was strangely comforting, actually, and he was going to stop thinking.

“Right,” he repeated, and started off at a slow jog.

Derek kept pace with him for a little while, then peeled off silently into the woods.

_Not chasing after a squirrel_ , Stiles told himself firmly.

He wasn’t going to make dog jokes about Derek or the others because that was some low-hanging fruit he had to avoid or else come across as the most assholish of the assholes, and while that was certainly the case, sometimes, Stiles didn’t want to be speciest. Not about Derek or his family.

It was like how Scott had never made _your mom_ jokes around Stiles. They just weren’t funny given his circumstances, plus Scott was actually a really decent human being, so there was that, too. Stiles was still working on that aspect of his own personality, though, but he was actually trying.

He gradually picked up speed, footsteps muffled by the pine needles underfoot. Stiles glanced around occasionally and every once in awhile caught a glimpse of orange, but didn’t really see much of Derek until he was climbing a slight incline and came around a huge tree that made a bit of a blind curve and the wolf was just sitting there in the middle of the path right in front of him.

Stiles stumbled to a stop and had to put his hands out to grip Derek’s furred shoulders to keep from tripping over him.

“Dude,” he breathed against the top of the wolf’s head, resting his forehead there, slightly winded from the exercise and not really caring that his proximity was kind of intrusive. “That was totally shitty of you and you know it.”

Once Stiles was no longer in danger of collapsing, Derek backed up a bit and looked unapologetic and actually a tiny bit disappointed.

Which meant-

“Oh my god, you were totally trying to scare me, weren’t you.” Stiles said, taking a step back and stretching his arms up to help expand his chest and make it easier to take a deep breath. “That’s a dick move, dude, and I seriously doubt you want to get in on that kind of a prank war with me.”

The wolf cocked his head to the side and Stiles laughed. “Oh, really, you think you could handle it? I don’t know, greater men have fallen after they’ve gone up against me. But wait, you’d probably enlist the help of Erica and your sister, wouldn’t you? Woah, no. I don’t think I want to get in on that, those ladies are scary enough when they don’t have a clear mission in mind. So, I’ll pass on that, but if you try that shit again I’ll put rocks in your shoes or food coloring in your soap or something.”

Derek huffed out a wolfish version of a laugh.

“I know I didn’t threaten your wolf form, and that’s because this way you’re extra cuddly and I kind of dig chillin’ with Ginger Bear. Not that you’re uncool or anything as a human, just, yeah, wolves rock.”

The wolf rolled his eyes and indicated Stiles should get back to it.

“Alright, alright,” he muttered, and took off jogging again, following in the wake of Derek's fluffy tail and struggling to resist the urge to grab onto it because he wasn’t a child and that was probably considered pretty rude. Stiles wouldn’t know, since he didn’t have a tail, and then he got side-tracked thinking about how Derek’s beta form didn’t have a tail, either. And he would have know since the man had fucked him like that and Stiles was pretty sure he would have remembered something so out of the norm. Well, besides the fangs and claws and lack of eyebrows.

Thinking about that desperately hot event made him breathe just a little heavier and he had to change the subject of his own internal dialogue to keep from getting a boner while he jogged, which would have been uncomfortable and embarrassing since Derek could have probably smelled that.

A light gray wolf met them on the path near the Hale house and Stiles had a quick moment of panic before he realized it was probably Erica, but Derek had already darted ahead, his bigger body slamming into her and they rolled through the leaves, nipping and kicking and chasing after each other like a couple of exuberant puppies.

“Unbelievable,” he muttered, but it was actually pretty adorable to see them act like that after all the shit they’d been through recently. Playfulness had kind of been in short supply, really.

Derek had certainly gotten less broody since Stiles had known him, probably in part because the Argent business was mostly taken care of. Well, besides the whole thing with Chris, which probably wasn’t going to be pretty. Nor was Stiles particularly looking forward to telling Allison about how her aunt’s gross come-ons had devolved into kidnapping and attempted murder. Yeah, that was going to suck.

The orange wolf finally broke away from the gray one and trotted up to him with an inquisitive expression, which likely meant he’d smelled Stiles’ emotions because apparently werewolves could do that. And really? That seriously wasn’t fair.

“Come on, you wanna stay wolfy or are you going to pretend to be a contributing member of society?” Stiles asked, holding the shorts out toward him. They were a little sweaty from him holding onto them, but he didn’t really think Derek would mind all that much.

The wolf, there was no other word for it, pouted, and Stiles burst out with a startled laugh.

“I can’t believe you can make your face do that in wolf form, too. Oh my god, Derek, you’re killing me with this. Oh, hey, probably Erica. Right?”

The gray wolf nodded a bit awkwardly and it was evident that she wasn’t quite as comfortable in that form as Derek was. Her yellow eyes darted back and forth between the two and he could just see her scheming already. And that was never good.

“Well hey, Erica," he said slowly, not quite ready for that level of scrutiny, "fancy seeing you here. Um, I’m going up to the house if no one objects, which I hope you don’t because I’m thirsty and kind of want to sit down for a minute. I don’t normally jog up that many inclines you know, because the treadmill I’ve been using is ancient and hey-"

Derek was suddenly behind him, still as a wolf, pushing Stiles’ butt with the flat of his head like he’d done at the lake house and Stiles gave a startled laugh.

“Okay, okay, we’re going!” he said, taking off behind Erica, who kept an easy enough pace so he could follow.

It turned out running with wolves wasn’t so bad afterall.

  
  


Derek shifted back to his human form as they broke through the treeline, silently taking the shorts and stepping into them as he walked. If Stiles had tried that he was pretty confident that he would have face-planted straight away, but apparently Derek was a freaking ballerina of the werewolf world because his pace didn’t even falter at all.

Laura was waiting for them on the porch, her arms folded across her chest in a defensive stance and Derek moved around Stiles and stopped in front of him, pretty clearly creating a barrier between the two of them. Erica remained in her wolf form and trotted past, jumping up the stairs to sit at Laura's feet in a way that kind of eerily mirrored their stances from after the fight Laura and Derek had gotten into about the whole mates business.

No one was saying anything, so Stiles cleared his throat and gave a little wave. “Uh, hi Laura, hope the house is okay, I tried to air it out, but there was a lot of dust and stuff. I turned the water on, though, and the electricity.”

“We could tell you were here, it smells like you,” she said without any inflection at all, so Stiles wasn’t sure if that was a good or bad thing.

Derek made a noise in his throat that sounded almost like a growl and that was really enough of that.

Stiles stepped up so he was at Derek’s side, ignoring the confusion on the guy’s face because apparently he’d legitimately thought he’d need to protect Stiles from his sister, which was so much bullshit. Laura might have been pissed, but there was no way she would have actually taken it out on him. Well, not physically. Well, not outside of yoga. Though Stiles hadn’t been exaggerating when he’d mentioned to Derek that he wasn’t willing to be the subject of her wrath.

“I know you probably think I’m a shitty person for bailing on you guys and stealing your car during the full moon, and hey, maybe you’re right, but I did what I thought was best at the time. I needed some space,” not that he’d really gotten much since the Hales had apparently decided to up and move back to Beacon Hills, “and some answers,” he was kind of short on those, too, really, “and I wanted to see my dad. Tonight I’m going to visit Dr. Deaton and figure out this whole spark business,” he glanced at Derek, who was watching him with focused intensity. “You’re invited, too. I’d really like for you to come with me, actually.”

Derek nodded a silent affirmative, which really came as no surprise, but he still appreciated the other man’s willingness to play along with his at times random life.

Stiles turned back to face Laura and Erica, swallowing as he brushed his arm against Derek’s and slowly slid his hand down the silky skin, the firm muscles twitching at the contact, until their palms were pressed together and their fingers were linked. He could feel the charge between them and heard the other man’s audible inhale at the gesture.

“I just found out about all this werewolf and magic stuff,” he told Laura, as much as he was telling them all, “so I think you could cut me some slack if I don’t always behave rationally. I’m not sorry for running away, just that I’ve seemed to become a source of contention between you guys. Derek and I are working on our shit and I’ll try not to be such an asshole to you all, but it’ll be easier if you meet me halfway.”

And really, Stiles wasn’t sure what he expected to come from that little proclamation or his spur-of-the-moment decision to hold Derek’s hand, but he certainly didn’t anticipate Laura throwing her head back and actually howling a laugh. He’d thought that was just an expression, but no, there was definite howling going on amidst the laughter. Erica quickly followed suit, jumping up and bouncing around Laura’s legs, adding her own wolfish noises to the almost braying sounds the other woman was making.

Stiles turned to ask Derek if his sister had lost her mind, but his breath caught when he saw the joy on the other man’s face. His grey-green eyes were sparkling with happiness, white teeth bared in an open smile as he watched the other two set off in a game of chase across the yard and into the woods.

“What the fuck just happened?” Stiles asked faintly, utterly baffled.

Derek looked over at him, still grinning, “You passed her test, apparently. I wasn’t sure at first what she was going to do, but you asserting yourself seemed to work. Come on, let’s get you some water.”

Stiles let himself be pulled along, their fingers still entwined as Derek led the way up the stairs and through the front door into the open entryway. They went past the living room to the kitchen and he didn’t miss the fact that the werewolf kept tipping his head back, like he was sniffing the air.

He gently shook his hand free and went to the cabinet where he assumed the glasses were. Stiles guessed correctly and he got out two, moving to the tap and suddenly there was a line of heat against his back and Derek’s firm hands gripping his hips.

“Uh,” he said, somehow managing not to drop the glasses he was holding as the other man dragged his nose across the side of Stiles’ neck similar to how he’d done so the previous night.

“Laura was right,” Derek replied in a whisper, his breath ghosting across the shell of Stiles’ ear, “the house is _thick_ with your scent.”

Stiles cleared his throat and turned on the tap, sloshing water into one of the glasses in an attempt to ignore the fact that there was a half-naked werewolf plastered against his back and who was apparently very much interested at the notion of having Stiles’ scent spread throughout his childhood home.

“Uh, so now seems like a good time to talk about the whole scent thing,” he said, voice a bit higher pitched than normal. Stiles set the first glass on the counter so the sudden trembling of his hand wouldn’t spill any more of the water, then tried to fill the other one with limited success because Derek’s hands were slowly sliding up under his shirt and he swore he could fell the other man purring behind him, his chest vibrating against Stiles’ back and while a part of him, namely his dick, was one hundred percent onboard with the idea of having kitchen sex with Derek, his rational mind was slowly grinding back into gear and-

“Derek,” he said firmly, kind of regretting what he was about to say, but not wanting to get them even more confused about their relationship than they already were, “I’m going to dump this water on your head if you don’t snap out of it right now.”

Behind him Derek jolted and then the heat and the hands were gone, almost evoking a put-out noise from Stiles, but he managed to control himself as he turned off the tap with a false sense of calm and grabbed the other glass. He turned slowly and extended one to Derek.

"So, scents?" he said, not letting the other man wallow in his evident embarrassment at having been apparently overcome by the very presence of Stiles, which was, well that was pretty fucking hot, really. Stiles took a deliberate sip of water and raised his eyebrows.

Derek looked down at his glass, as if kind of surprised to see it there, then followed suit, gulping down half of it before he seemed to settle his own nerves enough to speak.

"Yes, scents are an integral part of being a werewolf," he told the glass, one of his fingers running through the spilled water slicking the outside of it. "Packs tend to be very close, physically, but I suppose humans do that, too." He was talking about it like he'd never really given it much thought before. "You can tell a lot about someone by the way they smell. It reveals who they're close to, their diet, mood, general health-"

"Wait, how does my dad smell?" Stiles interrupted, interested in what Derek had to say, but he was pretty much perpetually concerned about the sheriff's well-being.

Derek gave him an odd look. "Your dad's fine, Stiles," he said dismissively, clearly not getting it.

"No, I mean like his health and oh, shit, you can hear his heart, too. What about that? Is there anything abnormal about it? You’d be able to tell if he was sick or had a murmur or anything, right?"

"Stiles, your dad's fine, really. He smells healthy and his heart sounds fine, though you get that I'm not a cardiologist, right?"

He gave the werewolf an unimpressed look. "Dude, this is my _dad_ , I'm allowed to freak out and grill you about his well-being."

Derek’s eyes widened a little bit and he made a wolfish kind of soothing noise in his throat. "I didn't mean it like that, Stiles. Yes, your father is healthy."

"Sorry I interrupted, so what about packs and shared scents?"

The other man looked at him for a second like he was making sure Stiles really was okay with the whole thing, then continued. "Yes, packs share scents, with the wolves, along with the humans," he added hastily, "who are closer to each other sharing more than the others.”

Which was kind of an awkward way to put it, but Stiles got the picture.

“So mates smell more like each other than, say, siblings?” he guessed.

Derek blushed. And that was never not going to be adorable.

“Ye-yes, mates smell the most like each other because they’re physically closer than others.”

“Wait, how does scent work?” Stiles asked, finishing his water and setting the glass back on the counter behind him. He leaned back and watched as Derek hastily emptied his glass, and took it from the werewolf when he was done.

Derek didn’t really seem to know what to do with his hands after that, so he folded his arms, the muscles of his chest and shoulders and biceps and just all of them prominent and lickable and Stiles made himself concentrate on Derek's face, instead, which wasn't really much better because the guy was stunningly handsome.

A thought occurred to him and he jumped in before Derek could answer. "Wait, do you guys have like, scent glands or something? I know some animals do, but what about werewolves?"

"Can we talk about this somewhere else?" Derek asked, as random as always.

Stiles shrugged, "Okay, but I'm going to put away these glasses first."

Derek nodded curtly. "Come find me upstairs when you're done," he said, then backed out of the room. Stiles was fairly certain the other guy had still been half-hard, though he very deliberately did not look down to check, so maybe he was going to take care of that?

Whatever. It happened, though Stiles' own reaction to their previous sudden proximity has thankfully diminished.

He rinsed out the dishes, but since there wasn't any soap he did the best he could to clean off any traces of spit or whatever and set them on the rack to dry. Stiles puttered around for another minute, giving Derek a little more time to sort himself out or meditate or whatever he needed to do before Stiles took a deep breath and retraced his steps to the entry way and the impressively large staircase. He skipped the third step, which squeaked, and then had a moment of indecision before he turned to the right and walked down the hall. He hasn't really figured out who had used each room, but it seemed like Derek’s was that way. Sure enough about halfway down the long hall he came to an open door and Derek was inside, looking out the window like he was trying to remember something.

“Hey,” Stiles said as he walked in. That room, like most of the other bedrooms, was sparsely furnished. Even though the Hales had apparently up and left almost overnight more than twenty years ago, they seemed to have done a great job of packing up their stuff and moving it out in that short amount of time. Unless they’d had Deaton or someone do some of it for them since them. “This your room?” he asked when Derek didn’t seem to want to respond.

Derek shrugged. “It will be, now,” he said, sounding utterly ambivalent.

Stiles moved further into the room. The bed was bigger than his, its frame made from a natural-looking wood and seemed handcrafted. The dresser and nightstand matched, but those were the only things in the space. The walls were a bland light tan, as were the pulled-back curtains. It seemed kind of sad, really. Barren.

He sat on the edge of the bed, there were clean white sheets on it, and looked up at Derek, who finally turned to him. “Tell me more about scenting,” Stiles said. He wasn’t even sure why he was so insistent about the subject, but he was a researcher at heart and that was pretty much what he did with his time. He asked annoying questions and pestered people until he got the answers.

Derek shrugged his stupid, perfect shoulders and watched him. “It depends on our form, actually. As wolves our scent is shared through saliva. We mark our territory the way most wolves do-”

“You pee on stuff?” Stiles asked, a bit startled by that, really.

The other man rolled his eyes, “Yes, Stiles.”

“Woah, wait, when you say territory do you mean like, land, territory or people, territory?” Stiles had never been all that interested in participating in a golden shower, but he could see himself getting pretty imaginative when it came to sex with Derek. If it came to sex with Derek.

“Jesus, Stiles,” the man said, bringing a hand up to cover his eyes, “no one’s going to pee on you.”

“Hey,” he protested, “it was a legitimate question! So I got it, you pee on rocks to mark your territory, that’s to be expected, I guess. Wait, is it to warn off other werewolves or actual animals? Woah, do you have to worry about territory disputes with werewolves?”

Derek finally looked at him, fondly with only a hint of exasperation. “You ask a lot of questions, and I’ll answer them, but-” he trailed off and seemed a bit nervous about something.

Stiles frowned, then suddenly got it. “You totally want to cuddle right now, don’t you? I was barely in this room at all, so it probably doesn’t smell like either of us.” It made a certain kind of werewolfy-sense, if that was the problem. He kind of hoped it was.

“Yeah, that’s, if that’s okay with you. I know last night you just needed the proximity because of your magic usage, but if you don’t want to be that close to me I understand-” and it seemed like he was just going to keep going, trying to talk them both out of it, so Stiles jumped in.

“No, I’m fine with it, dude.” He bent and untied his shoes. “I’m kind of sweaty still, but something tells me that’s not going to be much of an issue for you?”

Derek’s eyes flashed blue and he cleared his throat. “No, that’s not a problem. Actually, in our human form, scent marking is aided by sweat. Our pheromones are more easily transferred that way.”

Stiles kicked off his shoes and scooted back to lay on the bed, one arm behind his head because there weren’t any pillows. “Well, come on, then,” he said, patting the space beside him when it became clear Derek still appeared to be a bit constipated about the whole thing.

“Are you certain, Stiles?” the man finally asked.

He sighed, but knew it was probably a pretty significant sign of growth that Derek was so hesitant about the whole thing. But still. “Derek,” he said quietly, “last night I needed help and you gave it to me, and now it’s pretty clear I can return the favor, so come on, get with the program and scent mark me or whatever so you can finally relax.”

And then Derek was just there, sliding up against Stiles’ side, his body turned so the larger man was half-covering him in deliciously warm bare skin and hot hands and _yes_.

“It’ll be easier if you take off your shirt,” Derek murmured against Stiles’ neck, and he wasn’t even sure how that had happened but it felt divine.

Stiles couldn’t suppress the shudder that whisper of hot breath evoked and he leaned up to grab the back of his shirt, but then Derek’s hands were sliding up under the hem, across his stomach and chest and if he didn’t take control of the situation pretty quickly he was confident it would end in mutual orgasms and not much discussion, which was what needed to happen. Probably. Stiles was struggling to find a reason to care.

“Derek,” he said, voice sounding a bit raw, “keep talking.”

Stubble grazed the skin around the scars on his chest and he closed his eyes, his hands kneading the hard muscles of Derek’s shoulders as the man breathed damp warmth against Stiles’ sternum.

“Scent is exchanged through sweat,” he said, running a finger across what Stiles assumed was a collection of it that had gathered against his clavicle, “and through saliva,” he continued, licking across the scars in an odd there, not there sensation.

Stiles swallowed, but didn’t tell him to stop, and didn’t let go of him, either.

“When I’m around you and you don’t smell like me, like you’re my mate, it just drives me crazy,” Derek confessed, his hot tongue dipping to lathe the base of Stiles’ throat. “And it isn’t just scent marking, either, it’s showing that we belong to each other, so anyone looking can see that we’re marked, taken.” His teeth were suddenly on the side of Stiles’ neck and he gasped, eyes snapping open as Derek sucked a bruise there.

Stiles knew he should stop them, that they should take a step back and have an actual discussion about their relationship and probably Derek’s past and a lot of things, really, but the more the man touched him the harder it because to focus on anything other than the pulsing connection they seemed to share.

“That the only way you scent mark someone?” he finally managed to ask, breathless-sounding and pliant under Derek, who had, at some point, gotten on his knees and was straddling him, their erections obvious and so close to each other it wouldn’t take any effort at all to just slip their waistbands down under their balls and jack them off together.

Derek’s pupils were dilated to the point that only a thin line of green iris visible. “There’s another way we mark what’s ours,” he admitted with a wicked-looking smile. He bent, probably to whisper it in Stiles ear or to kiss him or mark the other side of his neck or something, but then a door downstairs slammed open and Laura was yelling that there was a package for Derek.

“Fuck,” Stiles muttered, watching as Derek seemed to snap out of the arousal haze they were in and then he was suddenly on the other side of the room, looking panicked.

“I-” he started to say, but Stiles cut him off.

“Derek, can we please just,” he rubbed his hands over his face and willed his erection to go away because it was making it hard - ha - to think. “Can we just not make this weird? We obviously have chemistry or whatever, but I don’t do fuck buddies, that’s just not who I am. So if we’re going to have sex again at some point, I’d like it to be after we’ve had a serious sit-down and discussed our feelings and whatever else needs to be said.” He got his elbows underneath him and sat up, watching Derek watch him. The other man had an unreadable expression on his face, his stoic mask back and better than ever.

“I like you, Derek,” he admitted softly, “but I just want to make sure we’re going about this the right way, so neither of us resents the other or feels cheated or belittled or anything other than completely happy with the situation. Is that okay with you?”

Derek nodded silently and left the room.

Stiles laid back on the bed and frowned up at the ceiling.

Werewolves were seriously fucking complicated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *shuffles feet* So, uh, you ever try to take a short nap at the end of the day and end up sleeping for twelve hours? Yeah...so...that may have happened last night.  
> Also, saw Pacific Rim again yesterday, so I dreamed about jaegers all night. Making some headway on the TW/PR AU, but this one is still capturing most of my attention. If I could I'd bake cookies and have Stiles and (shirtless) Derek deliver them to all of you. Thanks for reading! (no this is the end of the story, I just had to share my over-rested feels) ^_^
> 
> Oh, yeah, and if you ever have questions about parts of the story that haven't been answered you can absolutely leave me a comment about it. I probably won't answer it there, but I'll see if I can work it into the story.


	10. Chapter 10

It quickly became evident that Derek wasn’t going to be heading back up to his room, so Stiles sighed and flopped over onto his bare stomach so he could stare out the window. From that angle he couldn’t see much more than the trees that wreathed the house, the occasional bird flitting past to nest or nab an insect from the air or whatever it was birds did. He wasn’t really sure and he actually didn’t care, he was just trying to distract himself from the fact that he was really bad at keeping things PG with Derek.

The fact that the guy was as hot as the fucking sun did not help Stiles keep it in his pants, either. But at least his boner had gone down somewhat so he wasn’t going to have to beat off in a house occupied by werewolves and shit, Laura and the rest had probably heard him and Derek have sex that one morning before Isaac had driven him to Wisconsin, which explained some of the looks he’d gotten from them and there really weren’t any secrets between werewolves.

_Fuck_.

He wondered how that all worked. Stiles didn’t have siblings, well besides Scott, who was actually a bit of an over-sharer when it came to his relationship stuff, but it wasn’t like Stiles had ever heard the guy jack off or anything. He shuddered at the thought and forged ahead with his train of thought so he wouldn't dwell on it. Stiles remembered Derek saying something about knowing the other people in the house were having sex and that suddenly made a lot more sense with the super senses, so yeah, that was apparently a consideration he'd have to keep in mind. Not that he was planning what surfaces he wanted them to christen in Derek’s room or anything. Well, the night stand was obviously too small, but the dresser looked sturdy enough, and the wall next to the window was wide enough for Stiles’ shoulders if Derek had him hitched up and-

He swore under his breath and rubbed his face against the scentless fabric of the sheet. That actually made sense, too, the unscented soaps and laundry detergent and he’d never smelled anything other than Derek on the other man besides the previous night when he’d used Stiles’ shower and soap. He made a mental note to pick up some scentless stuff when he went shopping because he didn’t want to be the stinky one in a house full of sensitive werewolf noses.

Not that he was planning to stay or anything.

Not unless he was invited.

_Jesus_ , he needed to fire his brain.

There was a noise at the door and he turned, half expecting it to be Derek, afterall, but it was Laura, arms folded across her chest like before and a sassy look on her face.

And that was never good.

“Laura,” Stiles said slowly, aware that he was sprawled out, shirtless and shoeless on her brother’s slightly rumpled bed, but she probably would have been able to smell if they’d done anything naughty, right? Which, ew, that was actually pretty gross.

She snorted and shook her head. “You’re really making him work for it, aren’t you?” she asked, doing the inflectionless tone thing she seemed to excel at.

Stiles could tell it was another test, but wasn’t sure what answer she was looking for so he just sat up, crossing his legs and grabbing onto his ankles. “Yeah, I guess you could look at it that way, but I’m really just trying to make sure we don’t rush into anything if we’re not both ready for it. This isn’t some passive aggressive manipulation or anything like that, though, it isn’t a game to me.”

Laura gave him a considering nod and walked fully into the room, moving to the dresser and slouching against it. He was kind of amazed at her ability to collapse in a seemingly boneless heap wherever she went, like the effort of staying upright was too much. It was hilarious juxtaposed to how powerful she always looked in yoga, how straight her back was and how seemingly effortlessly she lifted Erica.

“How do you think the psycho chick knew about you?” she asked, gesturing to his chest casually. Laura wasn’t staring at the scars or giving him a pitying look, though, she was just watching him, having a conversation. It was kind of weird.

“Uh,” Stiles said with all the eloquence he could muster, which wasn’t much, “I haven’t really had time to think about it, actually. Is there some kind of a test or smell or, I don’t know, I’m just throwing out guesses.”

She shrugged, “Deaton will know, I was just curious. You don’t think you’ve casted before?”

He thought about it, but couldn’t remember ever feeling the kind of exhaustion he’d felt after the lightning incident or when he’d collapsed onto his floor the previous day for a spontaneous nap. “No, don’t think so.”

Laura nodded and tucked her chin against her chest. “Let me know what you find out from Deaton, will you?”

“Okay," he said slowly, "but why?”

She tried to look casual as she gave a nonchalant little shake of her head, but Stiles could tell there was something bothering her. “No reason, really, well,” she trailed off, then cocked her head like she was listening to something. Finally she nodded to herself and looked him in the eyes, “Okay, so don’t tell Derek because he’ll freak out, but sparks are a pretty rare commodity. If word gets out that we have one in our pack again, and not just as an ally like Anya was, there will be people coming to Beacon Hills from all over to get a look at you and to try to woo you away from us.”

“Jesus,” he breathed, scrubbing his hands over his face. “Are you for fucking serious right now?” And really? He was actually considered a member of their pack? His mom had been a Hale ally?

Laura scoffed, “Of course I’m serious, assole, why else would I tell you that?”

“I don’t know,” he hissed, “maybe so I’d stick close to your brother like some helpless damsel in a cheap romance novel!”

“Read a lot of those, do you?” she smirked and he really wished Derek had a pillow on his bed so he could throw it at her, but judging by how Derek had handled it that morning Stiles probably would have gotten a bloody nose from the exchange. As it was he crossed his arms and glared.

“If you’re making this shit up, Laura-”

“I’m not,” she snapped, then her head went up and she straightened, trying and failing to appear like she wasn’t just causing trouble as heavy footsteps thudded up the stairs and then Derek was in the doorway, clothed and booted and looking at his sister suspiciously.

“Laura,” he said slowly, like he was also asking for an explanation as to why she was in his room terrorizing Stiles.

“Hey, Ging’ just talking to your man. I’m going to check the perimeter if you don’t-”

“Actually,” Stiles jumped in, seeing a perfect opportunity to get a favor out of her. It was the least she could do after dumping that load of shit in his lap. “I was wondering if you could take a look at my old jeep, Derek said you were good at that kind of thing.”

She turned from where she had stopped in front of her brother, who was very obviously blocking the doorway with his large body, and looked at Stiles with narrowed eyes, definitely reading between the lines.

“Oh did he, now?” she asked, turning back to Derek with what was probably a profoundly impressed look.

“Yep,” Stiles replied cheerfully, knowing he was going to win despite her show of reticence, but since he wasn’t a complete ass he continued, “and I’d like to borrow your car to go to the store so I can get the ingredients to make you cookies in exchange for your generous assistance.”

Laura perked up a bit at that, but her tone was still pretty dry when she said, “Cookies, huh? Well if it’s for cookies then how can I resist. They better be peanut butter,” she added. “Keys are by the front door, we’ll take the scenic route to your place, won’t we Der-Bear?”

Derek let her pass, looking slightly annoyed, but he nodded. When he turned to Stiles he looked mildly concerned.

“I think I can manage to drive to the store and home on my own,” Stiles said with a smirk. The whole overprotectiveness thing Derek had going on was actually pretty amusing when it wasn’t stiflingly creepy.

    “You can drive stick?” the other man asked, a bit of a challenge in his voice.

Stiles couldn’t keep in his laugh as he scooted to the edge of the bed and worked at getting his shoes on. “Can I? Oh my god, Derek, I can’t believe that’s a question you have to ask. Yes, yes I can most definitely drive a stick. My jeep’s manual, too, so,” he broke off with a chuckle, enjoying Derek’s baffled look at his reaction as he slipped on his shirt. “Maybe I’ll show you how well I can handle myself on the road, sometime, but probably not today. Sounds like you’re going for a run with your sister and I seriously need to do some shopping. I’ll see you at my place, okay? Dad’s going to be home, so if you need anything just let him know.”

Derek nodded and twisted so Stiles could walk by.

He didn’t miss the fact that the other man sniffed him as he passed.

Werewolves. _Seriously_.

  
  


Stiles was so happy to get a few minutes to himself that he didn’t even realize he’d forgotten his shopping list until he was walking into the store. He swore under his breath and patted the pockets of his jogging pants, thankful that he’d at least had the presence of mind to grab his driver’s license and a debit card from his wallet before he’d left his house for his run to the Hale's house, along with his phone, which he used to send a quick text to his dad warning him that the siblings would be there at some point to deal with the jeep.

Whatever, he knew the gist of what he was looking for and grabbed a cart, wheeling it around an old woman who he probably knew, but who didn't call out to him so he was probably safe. Well, until he saw that she’d dropped a little silk packet of something or other on the floor as she shuffled along at a glacial pace. He picked it up, it kind of felt like it was full of rocks or something hard and lumpy like that, and gave it to her, but she just thanked him, eyes watery blue and he kind of thought someone that old needed a keeper or something. She still didn’t seem to want to grill him, so he gave a little internal cheer and moved on.

Over the years he’d kind of gotten used to the general meddling that went on about him and his dad, but that didn’t make him anymore eager to engage in a conversation that would inevitably involve the attempt to introduce him to this granddaughter or that niece or _please tell your father that Wanda was asking about him_ and all that nonsense. Stiles and his dad were happy without the help, and had both actually ended up finding people they enjoyed being with, though neither had really openly discussed it with each other. That wasn’t exactly how they did things like that, and he was okay with it.

He spent a while picking through the fresh produce, trying to choose things his dad would eat with a minimum amount of fuss. There wasn’t an overabundance, it turned out, which he was going to have to work on before he had to head back to Chicago. Stiles was halfway down the citrus section when another cart bumped into his.

“Sorry,” he said reflexively, then bit his lip because it was Allison and she did not look pleased. Actually, it kind of looked like she’d been crying and Stiles immediately felt himself kind of panic because it was _Allison_ and she _never_ cried, not even when she’d been sitting at his bedside after the whole knifing incident and they weren’t sure how extensive the damage was or if he'd need to undergo surgery because of the proximity of the blade to his lung. She’d been the one who had held Scott when he’d broken down, and patted Stiles’ hand with a calm and compassionate look and the fact that her eyes were red-rimmed put him on edge.

“Alli, is everything okay?” he asked slowly, not sure if he should immediately call in some werewolf backup or Scott or his dad or Chris because something pretty monumental must have happened for her to look like that.

She shook her head, but then squared her shoulders and looked him in the eye. “I want to know who killed my aunt,” she said firmly and Stiles struggled not to let out an explosive breath because _of course_ that’s what it was about.

“Okay,” he said, nodding, “uh, but you do remember the part about this being an active police investigation, right? So even though I was there I can’t legally say anything about what went down.”

Allison frowned at him. “I know the Hales are werewolves, Stiles,” she said, just like that.

He was pretty sure he was going to have a heart attack right next to the grapefruit.

“You,” he sputtered, then hissed in a whisper despite the fact that they were pretty much alone since it wasn’t even noon on a Monday. “You know about that stuff?” he asked, looking around like the most unsubtle criminal ever and he hadn’t even done anything but be dragged into a supernatural creatures conversation in a highly improbably location.

Allison sighed and waved a hand dismissively. “Of course I know about all that; wait, are you a werewolf, too? Were you _bitten_?” Her expression became a shade shy of murderous.

And Jesus, did everyone know about that shit except for him?

Stiles shook his head quickly, “No, absolutely not, I have zero interest in receiving that particular gift,” Allison’s lip curled angrily at the word, “but I have no problem with those who are of that persuasion, just so you know.”

“You don’t have to hide their involvement, Stiles, we know it was one of them who killed her.”

He frowned, suddenly feeling his resolve harden and a kind of protectiveness sweep over him. “If one of them did it,” he said quietly, “they were doing it to protect me. I told your dad, so I’ll tell you, too. Kate Argent leveled a rifle at my head and fired a shot at me. This was after she hired a couple of guys to kidnap me, and when that didn’t work out for her she did it herself, and then tried to get two of my acquaintances to rip my throat out with their teeth. So I’m having a hard time dredging up sympathy for the woman who repeatedly made completely creepy advances toward me and wouldn’t take no for an answer.”

And really, Stiles probably should have kept his mouth shut, but it was Allison, who was operating under false assumptions and was currently staring at his neck with a focused kind of intensity that meant he was very obviously sporting a hicky because Derek couldn’t keep his fucking mouth to himself.

_Great_.

Stiles cleared his throat and her eyes snapped up to meet his, the anger slightly dissipated, but still there. “If Kate had shot at you with a rifle you’d be dead,” she echoed her dad’s assumption and Stiles scoffed.

“Well I’m not.”

Allison opened and closed her mouth, as if unsure of how to respond to that, then tilted her head. “She really did all of that to you?” she asked quietly.

Stiles nodded. “Yeah, Allison, it’s been a really shitty week.”

Her expression finally softened and she held out her arms. “I’m sorry, Stiles, I didn’t mean to be such a psycho about it,” she said, and they wrapped each other in a tight hug.

“You’re not a psycho, Alli,” he muttered, her hair in his face but he didn’t even care because she was an awesome hugger. “I’m sorry about your aunt even though she was a terrifying person.”

Allison pulled away and gave him a sad smile. “I haven’t really seen or talked to her in years, but she was kind of like a sister to me when I was younger, until my mom-”

“I know, you don’t have to-”

“No, it’s okay,” she said, smiling sadly. “My dad told me a lot last night after you left. My family has a history of, of _hunting_ , he called it. Of making sure everyone stays in line, and I don’t think Kate and Gerard really followed along with that the way they were supposed to.”

“The code,” Stiles said, remembering Kate’s disregard for it.

Allison nodded. “Yeah, the code. But, if she did try to kill you and you were under the Hale’s protection?”

“I was. I am.”

“Then it would be their right to defend you,” she finished quietly, like she was coming to the realization as she spoke it.

Stiles let out a breath he wasn’t even aware he had been holding. It hadn’t even really occurred to him that Derek was in danger of retaliation until that moment and the dual sensation of fear and relief was dizzying. “Thats, wow, that’s good, then. Great. Okay, um. I’m going to just, do you have shopping to do, too?” Stiles wasn’t even sure what he was doing, just that he knew hunters weren’t going to be out for Derek’s blood and that he was safe and okay, the werewolf could probably hear his heartbeat thundering like he was in mortal peril, so he text: _I’m fine, don’t worry. Tell you about it later_ , to Derek and turned back to Allison.

“I still have some shopping to do, would you like to join me?”

She smiled, looking more relaxed and like herself than she had since their conversation started and they walked down the aisles together, talking about things unrelated to werewolves or family or hickies or anything even remotely stressful. Stiles seriously appreciated it.

  
  


When he got to the house the garage door was open and there were a pair of long, muscular legs peeking out from underneath the jeep. Laura’s jeans were already smeared with dark stains of grease and he could hear her swearing under her breath as she worked.

“I don’t think she’s a fan of your maintenance schedule,” Derek said from directly behind him and Stiles jumped about a foot before he turned to glare at the smirking werewolf.

“Ha ha, dude, for that you’re helping me carry in the groceries.”

Derek shrugged easily and went to the trunk and began grabbing the bags. He was clearly a _we’ll get it all in one trip_ kind of a guy and Stiles rolled his eyes. Because of course he was.

“Don’t break the eggs or Laura won’t get her cookies,” Stiles warned and he thought he heard the woman growl from under the jeep.

“I’m not going to break the eggs, Stiles,” Derek said, but put the bag that contained them back in the trunk and made his way to the house with careful steps and comically overburdened arms. The dork.

“Uh, huh,” Stiles called behind him, and grabbed the rest, which didn’t actually amount to much. Derek was seriously handy to have around when it came to heavy lifting, apparently.

Inside he even helped Stiles put things away, wordlessly taking the dry goods and placing them in the mostly empty pantry in a show of domesticity that made Stiles bite his lip to keep from grinning. His dad came into the kitchen then and kind of stared back and forth between them, clearly amused and not even trying to hide it.

"Sheriff," Derek said and his dad nodded in reply.

"Dad," Stiles greeted over his shoulder. "I'm making Laura cookies since she's taking a look at the jeep. You already had one today so if you want another you're going to have to do something nice."

He could hear Derek's breath of laughter, but otherwise he was silent as Stiles' dad narrowed his eyes.

"How about I raised you and didn't lock you up when I found you drunk at the preserve when you were seventeen?"

Stiles shrugged, "That was years ago, I'm talking right now."

Derek definitely laughed that time, but covered it with a cough. He wasn't subtle.

"I could show your friend," he said with a falsely sweet tone that was never a good sign, "some pictures of when you were a kid. That's nice, isn't it, Derek?"

Which was pretty evil, really.

They both turned to Derek, who was holding a bag of flour in one hand and looked kind of like an animal stuck in a trap who didn't know whether to wait it out or gnaw off his leg to get loose. Actually, he seemed pretty ready and willing to do the whole amputation thing, but it was like he wasn't sure which limb to go for.

"Jesus, Dad, you're the worst," Stiles said, turning back to put the milk in the fridge. "Fine, show Derek the damn pictures, if you can find them. Keep out of the way while I cook and I might let you have one cookie. One."

"Good to have you home, kid," his dad said cheerfully, and gave him a squeeze to the shoulder and a kiss against his temple before he retreated back to the living room.

"Yeah, yeah, love you too," Stiles replied with a smile. When he turned back from the fridge, Derek was still just standing there like he had been before. A robot in need of a reboot.

"Uh, Derek? Did your systems go offline or something?"

Derek finally blinked and huffed out a breath. "I'm not a machine, Stiles, we've been over this."

"Oh, yeah, I seem to remember you being something way cooler than that. Congrats on beating my expectations, wolfman," he replied with a smile. "Here, I'll take that, I need it anyway," he said, and took the bag from Derek's hand, their fingers grazing in a shock of static electricity.

"You know, if you don't want me to see those pictures of you, I'll just go help Laura," he said quietly as Stiles reached around him for the rest of what he needed.

"What? No, don't worry about it, I don't mind. I haven't actually looked at any of the old photo albums in years. Oh, if you see any good pictures of my mom let me know, will you?"

Derek nodded silently and watched him as he set out everything on the counter. "You don't use a recipe?" he asked.

Stiles shook his head. "Naw, I could make these in my sleep. I used to bake a lot in high school when I was stressed or for fundraisers or whatever. I've probably made these cookies a hundred times. Oh, I'm going to whip up sandwiches for lunch, I just realized we haven't eaten since this morning. So, I'll call you when they're ready and we can take one out to Laura."

"Two," Derek said with a smirk, "she gets hungry when she's working on cars."

"Two it is," Stiles agreed and nodded for him to go. "Have fun bonding with my dad, try not to get shot!"

Derek gave him a sassy look as he backed away. "That's not funny, Stiles," he said, like he was actually worried it was a possibility.

The thing was, Stiles wasn't a hundred percent certain it wasn't. But at least Derek probably wouldn't actually die from one of the sheriff's bullets. And seriously? Stiles' life was kind of fucked up if that was an actual consideration he had to make.

He sighed and went back to opening containers and measuring ingredients. At least that much was uncomplicated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Took the day off work and had my annual physical, which will never not be uncomfortable when your lady-business is involved (even my doc was like, welp, this is going to be awkward for both of us!)...and is not helped by the fact that whenever I'm in a waiting room I turn into the most socially incompetent human being in the universe *stutters and fumbles for stuff when name is called*...yeah, sometimes I suck at life, but I didn't need my labs redone since I just had them all checked last month when I was super sick, so woohoo no blood-work/extra bill!
> 
> That was totally irrelevant to this chapter. I just felt like sharing BECAUSE I CAN SO THERE! ^_^


	11. Chapter 11

The cookies were in the oven and Stiles had just finished making a heaping pile of sandwiches when he heard it. His head whipped around and he quickly made his way to the doorway and stared in shock as his dad and Derek both belly laughed over something sitting between them on the couch. Stiles couldn’t help the smile that came from seeing the two enjoying themselves so much, until he walked quietly up behind them and saw the picture in question.

“Oh, come on!” he protested, reaching down and trying to take the photo album, but his dad snatched it before he could and Derek easily seized his wrists in one hand and held them just firmly enough that he couldn’t get loose without struggling and looking like a total idiot.

“Now, Stiles, there’s nothing to be ashamed of, that’s a great picture of you,” his dad said, glancing over his shoulder with a shit-eating grin, the asshole.

“Uh huh,” he replied still sort of suspended there awkwardly in Derek’s grip, off-balanced and leaning over the back of the couch. “That’s hilarious dad, but also seriously horrible of you. I’m going to go cry about my feelings, now.” If he could get out of Derek’s grip, which was actually pretty unlikely given the werewolf’s challenging raised brow.

The sheriff chuckled and shook his head. “Come on, Stiles, no need to be so dramatic, you know you looked cute dressed like that.”

“ _That_ meaning as a princess? Then yes, I totally rocked it, no arguments there. Mom made me that outfit and I wore it around all the time. I was talking about the one below it where Scott and I were in our underwear, covered in mud. _That’s_ the embarrassing picture. We tore up one of mom’s gardens on the side of the house so we could wear the flowers on our heads like crowns because we were pretending to be princes, this was after the princess dress didn’t fit anymore, and then she chased us with the hose when she found out, hence the mud.”

His dad made a considering face and opened the album again, holding it so they could all see the pictures and _really_?

“Really, guys? This is how we’re going to do this? I’m astonished by the level of maturity you’re both displaying at this moment in time. Now, if you’ll unhand me, Officer Hale, I believe lunch is ready. Sheriff,” Stiles said, finally managing to pull free and stumble back a few steps before he regained his balance with a glare at Derek that did nothing to cow the man.

Because of course it didn’t.

He led the way to the kitchen, not touching his wrists or shaking out his arms or doing anything draw attention to the fact that his skin felt pleasantly hot and a bit tingly where Derek had held him and then Stiles wondered how it would feel to be restrained by the man under different circumstances and that was enough of _that_. He had lunch to serve and cookies to see to and hot men not to mount in the kitchen of his childhood home because that wasn’t very appropriate of him and they still had to have a serious discussion about their situation.

Sooner rather than later, Stiles hoped. He really didn’t have the greatest amount of self-control at the best of times and having a clearly willing sexual partner pretty much constantly available to him was quickly eroding whatever boundaries he’d somehow managed to erect and he just needed to _get the hell out of there_ before he did something regrettable. With his tongue. And Derek.

_Fuck_.

“Two for Laura you said?” he asked the object of his affections as he put three sandwiches on a plate and grabbed two bottles of water, and went out the back door without waiting for an answer besides the man's baffled look.

Once outside it was marginally easier to breathe, but that quickly changed when he saw Laura leaning casually against Betty’s front bumper with her arms crossed and a smirk on her face.

“A dress? _Really?_ ” she asked, eyes raking down his body speculatively.

Stiles snorted, refusing to be cowed or shamed or any of that bullshit. “Hell yeah I looked awesome in that princess dress when I was six. It was purple with a big puffy train thing that was fun to twirl. I still look good in dresses, by the way, though I prefer to wear ones that accentuate my slim waist.” And the thing was, Stiles wasn’t even lying. He raised his eyebrows and set the plate and waters between them on the hood of the jeep, taking one of the sandwiches for himself as she kind of stared, clearly not knowing what to do what that information.

“Huh,” she finally replied, and helped herself to a sandwich and one of the bottles.

They ate in silence, leaning against the jeep and just enjoying the cool air and quiet atmosphere, until Laura finally clapped her hands together and gestured to the pale blue vehicle.

“She needs some work, but not many parts, surprisingly. I already ordered them, so they should come in a day or two.”

“That’s, wow, that’s awesome,” Stiles managed after a sip of water. “How did you? Did you order them with your phone or something?”

Laura nodded. “The wonders of the twenty first century, right?” she said with a smirk. “I have a few more things I want to take a look at, then I expect some of those cookies. I can smell them on you and it’s making it hard not to attack you to lick the sugar off your skin." She gave him a super serious look so he nodded sternly.

“That’s profoundly creepy, but yes, ma’am, I’m on it. Cookie duty, roger that,” he said with a mock salute.

She rolled her eyes with a snort. “I can’t even begin to imagine what he sees in you,” Laura said, but she was smiling so whatever.

After they finished eating Stiles took the plate and empty bottles back to the house and slipped inside through the back. The air was warm and thick with the smell of baking cookies and he couldn’t help but grin. When he peeked into the living room his dad and Derek were watching an old ball game on tv. Derek glanced back at him with barely-there smile and Stiles nodded in acknowledgement before he stepped back into the kitchen. He put the dishes in the sink and set out the wire racks, already thinking about making something Erica would like as he took the cookies from the oven and carefully slid them one at a time onto the racks to cool.

Predictably, both men were hovering just inside the doorway when he turned around. They were clearly focused on the treats, but Stiles was still holding the turner, which he pointed at them sternly.

“One each, the rest are for Laura. I mean it!” he threatened, but they were already descending, skirting around him and juggling hot cookie for a second before they ate the probably still scalding treats.

“You guys are like children,” Stiles said, and used the utensil to smack his dad’s hand when it went in for another. “Nope, get out, you’re done. Both of you,” he said when Derek tried to sneak behind him.

He ended up actually chasing them out, laughing, and even managed to land a few swats on Derek, more for fun than for disciplinary purposes. Because really, the guy had a fantastic ass, made even more amazing by his tight dark jeans. And ugh, Stiles had to not think about that kind of thing.

He distracted himself by whipping up some extra chocolatey chocolate chip cookie dough and put two sheets full of fat vaguely cookie-ish shaped globs in the oven, then washed his hands and meandered into the living room, only to find the place charged with a kind of tense energy that had definitely not been there before.

“Uh,” he said, debating whether or not to just retreat to the kitchen and let the other two figure things out for themselves.

But then his dad twisted around to look at him. “Stiles, Derek and I were just discussing his role in recent events. Why don’t you come over here and join us, things were just getting interesting.”

Behind him the tv was still playing the same game as before. The Mets were down and Stiles knew they weren’t going to pull through with a win, though they scored twice more in the next inning.

“Really?” he said faintly, looking to Derek who was doing his whole stoic thing again and Stiles kind of wanted to punch him or sit on his lap and bury his face against the other guy’s neck and yeah, those were some strange impulses to have going on at the same time.

Derek nodded.

_Right_.

Stiles sighed and moved around the couch so he was sitting in the recliner that was positioned closer to his dad’s side. Pretty much because it was either that or plop himself between the two men and that wasn’t conducive to having a proper conversation. And really, Stiles needed to get it over with.

“Okay, yeah, Derek’s my anchor,” he said, just getting it out there because everyone knew about it anyway.

It kind of looked like Derek was about to choke on his own tongue, so Stiles jumped in, again.

“Hey, no worries, Dad knows about anchors. My mom’s was laughter, apparently.”

Derek’s eyes softened a bit at that, but he was still not showing much emotion as Stiles’ dad looked back and forth between them.

“I assume your family knows about this stuff from Anya?” his dad asked, not sounding entirely convinced about that.

“I don’t know very much, unfortunately, but Stiles mentioned that we’re going to see Dr. Deaton tonight and he’ll be able to tell us more. My mother also has some books on the subject at our house here. It was one of the reasons we’ve returned to Beacon Hills.”

Which was, that was pretty incredible, really, that the Hales were moving across the country partially on his account. Stiles wasn’t sure what to make of that kind of sacrifice.

“Deaton?” his dad asked. “He’s in on this, too? Well, I suppose that makes a certain amount of sense, Anya went to him occasionally and always came back with more herbs for the garden, also covered in dog fur, now that I think of it.”

Derek looked like he wanted to shift uncomfortably, but somehow managed not to.

“Okay,” Stiles said, forging ahead, “Derek’s my anchor, so he’s probably going to be around while I’m in town, just in case I accidentally do some more magic or whatever, but hopefully Deaton will give me some tips about making that not happen unless I really need it, which I probably won’t.” And that last bit was a total lie because apparently sparks were popular fuckers, according to Laura, so he’d have to be on the lookout for more assholes who wanted to woo him or kidnap him or whatever the fuck else. He really hoped it wasn’t more knifing of the chest bullshit because that was bad enough the first time. Derek gave him a sharp look, which clearly said he knew Stiles wasn’t being honest with them, but didn’t call him out on it and _that_ would be a fun conversation for later.

His dad didn’t seem entirely impressed, either. “So how do anchors work when they’re people?” he asked, and looked at Derek.

Stiles didn’t think he’d ever seen the man look more uncomfortable and was having a hard time not laughing. He didn’t, though, because he wanted to get it all out there and didn’t think that kind of a distraction would be particularly helpful.

Derek cleared his throat and looked at his hands. “My role is to ensure Stiles is taken care of after he casts,” he said, then glanced up at him. “The amount of energy he uses needs to be replaced, and I’m able to assist in that through physical contact, and if that isn’t a possibility, then I can help him through our shared dreams.”

And okay, so that apparently wasn’t just a mates thing, afterall, which was useful information. Stiles wondered what other gems Derek was keeping to himself, but didn’t have long to think about that because then the front door opened and Laura walked in with her long hair somehow captured back in a messy bun, her bare arms and jeans smeared with various greases and a smirk on her face.

“Did I miss anything? Howdy, Sheriff. Oh, I smell cookies,” she said, then wandered into the kitchen.

Stiles grinned and jumped up to follow her. “Go ahead and carry on without me,” he called over his shoulder, kind of enjoying the slight panic on Derek’s face.

Whatever, the guy had been holding out on him, he kind of deserved to be interrogated by the sheriff, though he didn’t appreciate his dad’s yelled, “Spoons are in the freezer,” as he left the room. Stiles definitely came by his trollish tendencies honestly.

  
  


Laura ate some of her cookies and helped Stiles take Erica's out of the oven, which ended up with her showing him how quickly werewolves could heal from burns and that was pretty disgusting and informative all at the same time, actually.

"Dude," Stiles said, making a grossed-out face as he watched the angry red blisters across her palm and fingertips fade gradually to the normal tanned color of the rest of her skin, "That's pretty gnarly, Laura." He glanced up at her and she was kind of frowning down at it, but then she shook out her hand and shrugged.

"Comes with the territory. How long would it have taken you to heal from that?" she asked, like she actually didn't know, which was probably true but also a bit mind-boggling.

Stiles thought about it, then shrugged. "I'd probably have to go the hospital for something like that, then I don't know, maybe a week or two of bandages. If it’s bad enough, like if it scars, then physical therapy might have to be involved because the tissue gets tough, I guess. I don’t know for sure, though. Thankfully, I've always had a healthy respect for the oven and burners and fire in general, so I didn't ever experience anything like that first-hand." Which was a terrible, unintentional pun.

Laura cocked her head slightly. "A week or two? That sucks. But hey, maybe your magic will change that, you never know."

Well, Stiles knew that it hadn't helped with his mom's cancer, but that was probably different, so he just nodded noncommittally and made sure the oven was off because he was slightly paranoid about that kind of thing. It was, but it didn't hurt to check. A couple of times. Stiles quickly went to the sink and started on the dishes so he wouldn’t get caught in a paranoia loop about the oven. It had happened before and he hated feeling so neurotic.

"Derek likes marking you, doesn't he?" Laura asked casually as she bit into another cookie and gestured to his neck with the turner she was using to move Erica’s cookies onto the racks. He was kind of impressed with her ability to pack away the peanut butter ones since he'd made two dozen and there were only a handful left on the racks, which was fortunate because there were about that many of Erica's still needing to be set out to cool.

Stiles shrugged. "Apparently, though it's not like I can mark him, too, so things seem a bit one-sided." Not that he was looking to mark Derek.

Okay that was a lie.

He was absolutely obsessed with that possibility, not that he'd admit it to anyone except apparently the guy's sister and that was pretty messed up, especially since Derek could probably hear him pretty easily from where he was sitting in the next room being interrogated by Stiles' dad, so that was actually pretty fair.

Laura made a considering noise. "You could totally mark him," she said. "It's about intent, and drawing blood. We don't scar from something like that, but if you put a mark on him with the purpose of having other people see it and know that he's yours, then it'll stay for as long as the two of you want. Erica does it to Boyd and Isaac, sometimes, and to me on occasion."

Which was a lot of personal information he wasn't sure he'd actually like to know about his friends, but-

"Woah, _blood_? Isn't that unsafe, you know, because of diseases and such? Not that I think you guys have diseases or anything," he was hasty to add.

Laura rolled her eyes. "We can't get sick, Stiles," she said like he was a total idiot. Though it wasn't exactly his fault he hadn't had an opportunity to attend a lycanthropy 101 class, and was pretty much learning everything about werewolves on the fly.

Also, _what_?

"Uh, okay, that's completely fascinating, actually, but can you still _carry diseases_? Like could you spread something without getting it, the way mosquitos spread West Nile and malaria and that kind of thing?"

She actually seemed to consider the question, which was cool but also terrifying that it hadn't come up before and _really_? That was pretty irresponsible and he had a sudden urge to go get tested for all the things because he was actually pretty paranoid about getting diseases and being sick and hospitals and needles and he leaned back against the counter in front of the sink and tried to quiet his brain so it didn't go into full freakout mode.

Eventually she seemed to come to a conclusion about it. "No, I don't think we can carry diseases. Our immune systems burn through things too quickly for that. Uncle Peter was bitten by a rabid racoon one time and he didn't get rabies from it, nor did any of the animals he came in contact with afterward."

_Rabies?_ Jesus.

He hadn't even thought about that. Stiles also wondered what she meant by the whole _animals he came in contact with_ thing. And really? He wasn’t sure he wanted to know.

“Hanging out with you guys isn’t good for my blood pressure,” he informed her as he turned back and started scrubbing the mixing bowl. He could have just rinsed everything and put them in the dishwasher, but washing them manually gave him something to do with his hands that wasn’t stress cleaning, not that he had anything to feel stressed about. Well, besides the potential blood play he’d have to negotiate with Derek and the fact that they were going to Deatons to find out just how fucked his life had become and probably how to defend himself in the seemingly inevitable event that psychopathic werewolves or hunters or whatever came after him for because of his innate magical talents and-

“Hey,” Derek said from directly behind him, his current favorite scare tactic, it seemed, but Stiles was too keyed up to even startle and that’s how he knew he probably needed to meditate or something. Warm hands gently settled on his waist and Stiles closed his eyes, feeling himself relax just a bit.

“Hey,” he repeated quietly, kind of amazed that his voice could be so soft when his mind was a frantic neurotic rush.

Derek’s nose brushed against the tender mark on his neck and Stiles sighed, barely resisting the urge to settle back against the other man’s body. “Laura’s going to finish cleaning up, why don’t we go up to your room and rest for a while before we go to Deaton’s? Something tells me it’s going to be a pretty intense evening.”

Stiles nodded and opened his eyes, washing the suds off his hands, then drying them and following after Derek like a duckling or puppy or something kind of lost and frazzled. His dad didn’t even glance up from the paper as he passed behind the couch, nor did he make a comment about keeping bedroom doors open, which Stiles was thankful for because he kind of wanted some wolf cuddles without meddlesome fathers interrupting or freaking out or anything like that.

They got to his room and Stiles closed the door, but when he turned around Derek was standing there with his arms folded across his chest and that kind of posture didn’t scream _let’s cuddle_. It was a bit too defensive and tense and shit.

“This is when we have that conversation we’ve been avoiding, huh?” Stiles guessed, moving around him to flop onto the bed.

Derek nodded from where he was still standing like a disgruntled bouncer, though his eyes raked down Stiles’ prone body and that was a promising sign.

“Okay, so talk,” Stiles said, wiggling so his shoes were sticking off the end of the bed, his arms were folded behind his head, and suddenly he was having a hard time staying awake. He yawned, then scooted over a bit. "On second thought, can we take a quick nap, first? Ten minutes, okay thirty, then we'll talk about all this stuff?"

Derek's tough-guy stance crumbled pretty quickly and he rolled his eyes. "Fine, but no shoes on the bed," he said, and snorted when Stiles pouted at him and extended one of his feet toward the other man. "You're like a child," he chastised without any heat.

Stiles just grinned as Derek carefully untied and removed his running shoes for him, then kicked of his own boots and crawled onto the bed. It took some maneuvering, but they eventually wedged themselves onto the twin mattress without either of them, well, Stiles, being crushed.

    He laid there for a moment, head against Derek's chest, listening to the man’s heart beating a steady, thudding beat, and then his eyes drifted closed.

  
  


Stiles opened his eyes and he was in the field, face first in the soft grass.

Alone.

He carefully sat up and looked around, but there was nothing but the endless hills and the infinite blue sky.

"Derek?" he said, and suddenly the man was sitting across from him, brow furrowed and lips drawn down in a frown.

"Stiles?" he asked, and it was a complete sentence, an inquiry about his well being and why he seemed out of sorts and what Derek could do about it.

He smiled in relief. "Hey, guess we get a nap and a talk all at once. How about that?"

The other man was not amused, but he nodded curtly, if silently, in reply.

Stiles took a deep breath, "Okay, I'll start, I guess. Last night Chris Argent asked me about what happened to his sister," Derek's eyes tracked down to his throat and flashed blue, "and then Allison was at the grocery store this morning and she asked me, too."

Derek shifted uncomfortably. "What did you tell them?" he asked quietly, almost like he was dreading the answer.

Stiles frowned. "I told them Kate tried to shoot me and died because of it."

"You- what?" Derek said, clearly baffled.

Stiles couldn't take it, anymore, he grabbed the other man's hands where they were in the process of picking apart blades of grass and set them on his own knees so he could trace the veins and tendons and muscles beneath the impossibly soft skin. Connected, he could feel the other man’s conflicting emotions and that somehow seemed to calm his own whirling thoughts.

"The woman was a psycho," Stiles said quietly, funneling his resolve into their weird hand-bond-connection-thing, "she tried to kill me and she got what she deserved. Allison said that no one should go after you for it because of their code, not that I told her it was you,” he hastily added.

Derek's hands twitched, but he didn't take them back. "I would have done it regardless of the potential for retaliation," he said, and Stiles had to smile.

"I know, dummy," he said fondly, and relished in the twitch of a smile Derek gave in return, along with the gentle pulse of happiness. "But," he continued with a more sober tone, "we have a lot of shit to talk about. I barely understand this whole mates thing, let alone how that affects our anchor situation, plus the fact that I find it incredibly difficult not to slam you against the nearest horizontal surface so one of us can mount the other. Vertical surfaces, too, really."

Derek boggled at him for a second, mild shock and confusion and want coming through the bond before he cleared his throat and looked away, which, really? That did all kinds of unfairly attractive things, like showcase his strong neck and accentuate his stubbled jawline and then Stiles had to clear _his_ throat and glance away.

"Right," he said, "so?"

The other man finally looked back at him, though with a kind of shy expression Stiles couldn't ever remember having seen before. "There is a simple enough explanation I can give you," Derek said quietly, his tone delicate.

Stiles nodded for him to continue.

"Mates are for life, at least for werewolves. I will never want another person for as long as I live. You're it for me, though I understand, intellectually, if the feeling isn't mutual. If you want to take a different lover I'll deal with it, but my nature is to keep you safe and protected and smelling like me, and me alone."

Which. Woah. That was a lot to take in, especially with the quick burst of possessiveness Derek felt, but it honestly didn't really surprise Stiles all that much. He'd suspected it was something like that, though the fact that Derek was basically giving him permission to cheat on their arranged marriage type relationship was bullshit.

"Dude, I'm not going to be unfaithful," he said and abruptly realized that he completely meant it. "I don't anticipate this being easy for us, but as long as we actually communicate instead of phone tapping and stalking each other I think we can work things out, don't you?"

But Derek looked and felt conflicted and Stiles' heart sank. "I don't want you to feel obligated to stay with me just because of our biological compatibility," he said, and that was it.

"Oh my god I like you, okay?" Stiles burst out, flailing his hands up, losing contact, but it didn’t really matter because he could get it all out verbally, plus Derek could probably smell his exasperation. “I think you’re a pretty cool person, and the fact that you’re a werewolf just makes you even cooler, quite honestly. I don’t know what happened to get us involved like this, with the mates thing, but it’s pretty clear that your life would be easier if I were to stick around. And,” he continued when Derek’s expression only got broodier, “it’s evident that I’m reliant on you, too. What do you think would have happened after my little magical light show if you hadn’t been there to take care of me?”

Derek’s expression reminded him of a cartoon character who had a thundercloud stuck floating just over his head. Stiles was pretty sure the eyebrows were a key factor in achieving that level of brood. “You would have gotten sick, or worse,” he ground out and his hands, which were still on Stiles’ thighs grew claws and a frizure of anticipation raced down his spine.

But it wasn’t the time for that.

Stiles cleared his throat and dropped his hands back on top of Derek’s, careful of the claws, but still tracing his fingertips gently over and around them. “As far as I can tell we’re being pushed together by forces outside of our control. Both of us are. This isn’t some one-sided infatuation or obligation or whatever it is you’re thinking.” Because Stiles could still feel Derek’s reluctance. “So, since that’s the case, we need to make sure neither of us feels unduly pressured by our biology, or by each other. That said, do you have anything to add before we negotiate some kinks and what-not, which is what we should have done before we even started engaging in sexy times, but that can’t be undone so we’ll just have to make an effort to be better at communicating about this whole thing from now on.”

The other man was just kind of looking at him. A bit stunned and a bit hopeful and definitely a bit scared. “No, we can talk about that other stuff,” he said, voice kind of rough.

Stiles smiled, slow and wide and delighted. “Okay, this is generally when things can get kind of awkward, but we’ve already seen each other naked and all that, so hopefully that will help mitigate the discomfort.”

Derek finally smiled back, a small twitch of his lips, but it was pretty amazingly attractive, especially paired with the slow burn of want that began to build up between them.

Yeah, Stiles was definitely on-board with that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Grandma called me out of the blue today (cue heart palpitations ARE YOU LOST DO YOU NEED HELP) and it turns out she meant to call a church lady, but I have the same first name and she was like, well, I'd rather talk to you anyway (omg the sass I can't she's like an adorable tiny hobbit lady) and she proceeded to talk about how she misses my grandpa (she cried and I almost broke down in the middle of work) and how he didn't like it but he had to strafe German soldiers during WWII because he was a fighter pilot (wtf grandma this isn't a story I've heard before :\\) and then she talked about how hard it is to acclimate to new technology (she's in her 80s and likes to play solitaire and has a better computer than I do) and that my cousin and I should really go to church because it would make her happy (BOOM SHE CRUSHED MY HEART INTO A MILLION PIECES).   
> Anything but that, Grandma, LITERALLY ANYTHING but going back to the cult :\   
> ugh...unrelated ramble again...but she's so sweet and caring and she sends us hand-made cards for random holidays and *sighs* family feels
> 
> SPEAKING OF FEELS HOW ABOUT THAT LATEST EPISODE OF TEEN WOLF?! (I'll admit, I LOVED it. Hurts so GOOD.)


	12. Chapter 12

They woke gradually from their negotiation slash nap, sleep-heavy hands sliding against taut skin, lips and teeth and tongues clashing as Derek rolled half on top of Stiles, his previous uncertainty gone as he took Stiles apart one deliberate kiss at a time.

"Thought we were taking things slow," Stiles gasped as Derek's scruff grazed the tender skin at the hinge of his jaw. Not that he was complaining, just checking to make sure they were still on the same page.

Derek breathed a laugh. "I am going slow," he whispered, and bit gently on the delicate skin just under his ear and Stiles' back arched at the sensation. Derek abruptly opened his mouth and lathed the area with his tongue and Stiles was going to ask for him to bite down again when he heard the unmistakable sound of someone pounding up the stairs.

Laura flung open the door, completely ignoring the fact that she was very obviously interrupting something. “Come on, Der, Erica wants us at the house to help her with some things. I’ve packed up her cookies already. Don’t worry, Stiles, I only let your dad have one of them and I made him help me put away the dry dishes. Come on, come on, I wanna run!”

And woah, apparently werewolves could get sugar highs, too.

“Uh,” Stiles said, having a hard time untangling himself from Derek, who was wrapped around him and had shifted just enough so that his head at the hollow of Stiles’ throat, clearly unwilling to move. “Don’t know if he’s up for a run quite yet.”

Laura frowned and moved toward the bed, then punched her brother on the arm so hard Stiles’ ached in commiseration, though Derek showed no sign of giving any fucks at all. “Get up, asshole, we’re going running. We have to get the house ready for everyone else before they get here. You know mom's not going to be happy if we don’t get it cleaned up and ready to live in, and you're still on dad's shit list because of the mess you made of the hallway floor back in Wisconsin.” And okay, so Derek hasn't been joking about that when he'd been on the phone with Stiles, and that was good to know.

Derek grumbled something against Stiles’ skin, but the only emotion he was giving off was a kind of petulant contentment. It was kind of funny, actually.

“Hey, why are you guys running, anyway? Why don’t you just take your car?” he asked, giving Derek more time to sort himself out before Laura attacked him again or tried to physically haul him out of bed, which he was completely certain she’d have no trouble doing.

She shrugged. “You can use it and come pick up this jackass before you have to go to Deaton’s, since it’s sort of on the way and your jeep isn't fixed, yet. Besides, we have to keep running the perimeter to make sure nothing’s trying to encroach on our territory. Can’t do that in a car.”

Stiles made a contemplative noise. That did make sense, sort of. Derek shifted against him and grazed his stubble against Stiles’ collarbone in a way that kind of made him want to stay in bed with the other guy forever, but Laura was still looming there, so he caved. “Fine, give us five minutes and then Derek will be ready to run with you. Deal?”

Laura didn’t seem to want to agree, but finally huffed out a _fine_ before she stomped out of the room and back down the stairs.

Derek moved with deliberate, powerful slowness, sliding his hand up under Stiles’ shirt to rest over his heart. “It feels wrong to leave you, even for a short amount of time,” he confessed against Stiles’ throat and he didn’t need to be a werewolf to know that his heart skipped a beat at hearing that. He could feel Derek’s lips curl in a satisfied smile.

“Well,” Stiles said, voice lower than normal, “I appreciate you sharing your feelings with me, but we probably shouldn’t be that super clingy couple that everyone makes gagging noises about behind their back. I mean, don’t get me wrong,” he said tightening his hold on Derek’s shoulders, “I do enjoy cuddling with you in any of your forms, but we are also two autonomous people with lives and responsibilities outside of the bedroom. Which sucks, I agree, but that’s life.”

“I know,” Derek replied with an adorable hint of petulance in his voice as he nuzzled against Stiles' neck some more, and he was going to have a wicked case of stubble burn across his throat if the other man kept that up. Not that he was complaining, but still.

“But you don’t like it,” Stiles finished for him when it became evident Derek wasn’t going to continue.

Derek grunted.

“Come on, grumpy,” he insisted, running his fingers through the man’s dark, tousled hair, tugging just enough so he’d bend his neck and then Stiles placed a firm kiss on his warm forehead. “We have four more minutes until your sister is going to actually drag you out of the house and into the woods. Now, we could either spend that time pouting or kissing. It’s your choice.”

The werewolf chose wisely.

Stiles had stubble burn on more than his neck by the end of their deadline.

  
  


His dad left shortly after the Hales to go see Melissa for a dinner date, which made Stiles smirk, but since he didn’t have a leg to stand on he didn’t tease the other man about it. Well, not too much. Okay, so he totally heckled the sheriff and earned a stern, “Watch it, kid,” in reply. But the man had totally been forcing back a smile as he walked out the door.

Stiles made a salad from the sandwich fixing leftovers and ate it in front of his computer, catching up on some of the webcomics he liked, but ignoring all social media except for his e-mail inbox, which didn’t show anything new from work, so that sucked a bit, but was probably to be expected since there was probably a lot of legal stuff and a police investigation involved.

He wanted to know where he stood at work and whether or not he needed to go ahead and book a ticket back to Chicago, which, ugh, that was probably going to be expensive, though he hadn't exactly paid for his fare to Chicago, not that anyone knew that, but still. Stiles had a hard time feeling guilty for scavenging off Gerard's dead body, but didn't exactly want to share his sin with the class. He could only imagine what his dad and Derek would say about him stealing that money for his plane ticket, given their professions.

_Jesus_ , no, Stiles was definitely not going down that road with them, not until he had to, at least. And really, he had to start making different life choices or something because hiding things from the people he was closest to was pretty tricky and stressful.

When he went back downstairs to wash his dishes he noticed that the kitchen was pretty much spotless and grinned at the thought of Laura making his dad clean with her. Stiles wondered if she’d sweet-talked or bullied him, then decided that either method was pretty acceptably hilarious and that he didn’t really care which it was. He then trotted back up the stairs, humming lines from random songs, and slipped into some more appropriate clothes since running gear wasn’t exactly the height of fashion, he knew, though neither was his standard combo of a graphic tee, loosish jeans, a plaid overshirt and a hoodie, but he rocked those so whatever. Derek’s boots that Stiles had used while in Wisconsin and had subsequently taken were still by the front door, so he put them on with a grin because why not?

Stiles slipped outside still grinning, locking up behind him and wasn’t even looking where he was going as he sent the text to Derek telling him he’d be at the Hale house shortly.

“You must be Stiles,” a voice said and he whipped his head up. There was an attractive older man standing there at the top of the porch stairs in front of him, and something about the guy put Stiles on edge. It made him want to look over his shoulder or check to make sure he hadn’t forgotten his keys in the door or left the oven on and oh, yeah, he was totally a werewolf. That was probably why.

Not that Stiles knew _how_ he knew that fun fact, though. It wasn’t quite as clear cut as the police officer who had questioned him in Wisconsin, but there was just something about how the man held himself, and probably his unusually muscular physique that reminded him a lot of Derek and-

“You must be a Hale,” he replied as calmly as he could. The stranger danger part of his mind was lighting up and Stiles took a measured step backward, toward the door and the illusion of safety.

The man stepped forward onto the porch with a delighted grin, like he was excited to give chase. “Indeed,” he purred in a close approximation of how Kate had talked to him and Stiles was definitely feeling pretty profoundly uncomfortable with the entire situation.

“Which would make you Uncle Peter,” Stiles realized. He hadn’t heard of any other Hales and the man definitely wasn’t Rollin. Peter had Talia’s pale eyes, but slightly lighter hair, though they shared a similar defined jawline.

The werewolf brought a strong hand up to stroke the stubble on his chin with a calculating expression. “So you’ve heard of me,” he said, pleased.

And yeah, Derek had mentioned him briefly, but Stiles hadn’t really heard much more than the man was married to his not-mate and had a couple of kids. That was pretty much it other than the fact that he lived in the Hale’s Wisconsin house with his family and Talia and Rollin, but was apparently in California ahead of the rest of them?

Stiles shrugged because he didn’t have much to say and knew that sometimes being a bit rude was a good way to get out of a conversation.

Peter smirked.

So that didn’t exactly work.

“There’s been a lot of talk about you,” Peter said, taking another step toward Stiles and he was torn between standing his ground and retreating to the relative safety of the house, which was unfortunately though a locked door that he wouldn’t be able to get open quickly enough if it came to that. In the end he just stood still and waited for the creeper to get to the point, his skin going cold from the influx of adrenaline coursing through his veins.

“Sparks are exceptionally rare,” Peter continued, “and for you to have a werewolf anchor, well that’s quite a boon to our pack. Such an acquisition should be cherished, revered.”

But the way he said _acquisition_ made it sound kind of sound like Stiles was Hale pack property instead of him being a free agent, and _that_ wasn’t a comfortable thought.

Peter looked him up and down, then took a deep breath with lidded eyes and sighed. “You know, if my nephew isn’t taking proper care of you, all you need to do is come to me and I’ll make sure your needs are seen to. We can't have such a gorgeous young spark suffering from neglect, now can we?”

And seriously? _What the fuck_.

“Nope,” Stiles said, backing up until his shoulder hit the doorframe. “That’s a negative to all of that. I don’t know what weird power game you’re trying to play, but no fucking thanks. Derek’s fine, he’s great, I’m the one who wants to take things slow, and you know what, that’s not even something that should concern you. So, you’re leaving, _now_. Alone. And you’re not going to darken my doorstep again or I will tell Talia about your creepy advances. She’s your alpha, right?” The werewolf’s eyes flashed blue and Stiles swallowed. “Uh, yeah. So, Peter, it’s been uncomfortable knowing you, bye.”

He took out his key and managed to fit it into the lock while still watching Peter, whose smirk returned and he raised his hands in what was probably only temporary defeat.

“As the spark says,” Peter allowed with laughter in his voice. He walked backward down the stairs, not even tripping on the loose board Stiles had been meaning to fix for a few years.

Stiles waited until he'd disappeared into the darkness before slipping inside and locking the door, then fumbled as his phone vibrated in his hand.

“Derek,” he said as evenly as he could, like it would matter.

“What’s wrong?” came the immediately reply.

Stiles swallowed. “So, what? You’re not listening in on my phone anymore?” he tried to joke, but his throat felt a bit too tight and his skin was cold and he could feel his pulse thudding too quickly.

“Stiles,” Derek growled, ambient noise rushing in the background and-

“Are you running?” he asked, debating whether or not he should go for his dad’s gun just in case Peter returned. Not that normal bullets would really stop a werewolf, or at least he assumed that wa the case having seen the wolfsbane that went into the hunter’s rounds. He ended up abandoning that notion and went up to his room, instead, though Derek had gotten in there easily enough and Stiles had a second of internal debate before he cautiously opened the door and peeked inside. It was thankfully empty and he had just closed the bedroom door behind him when there was a sound of a thud outside his window and through the phone. “You’re seriously on my roof right now?” he asked, heart still in his throat.

Instead of answering, the call ended and a second later he could see a dark silhouette outside the window, carefully levering it open and then Derek was in his room, stalking quietly toward him with glowing blue eyes as he sniffed the air.

"Peter," he growled, "Did he hurt you?"

His harsh tone was out of place with how gently he touched Stiles, running his fingertips over his cheeks and down his throat and arms and then Stiles closed the distance between them, pressing his entire body against Derek's and burying his face against the side of the other man's neck and he was really starting to understand Derek's neck kink because Stiles could smell him so strongly there, heady and warm and comforting. His body relaxed almost without permission as Derek's firm arms enveloped him.

"Hey, talk to me, Stiles," Derek said, worry in his voice and through the bond in a double gut punch if emotion.

"Your uncle is fucking creepy," he muttered.

Derek breathed an unamused laugh. "Mom called, it turns out Aunt Megan doesn't want to move so close to the end of the quarter, and she still might not come out here with the kids after that. Mom said Peter hadn't taken it very well."

Stiles rubbed his lips against Derek's skin and briefly thought about what Laura had said about marking, then dismissed it to concentrate on the conversation at hand.

"So he comes out here and acts all creepy instead of trying to work things out with his wife?" he asked.

Derek shrugged. "She's not his mate, so he might not feel as pressured to remain behind with her."

It kind of sounded like the non-mate thing was a pretty tired excuse for douchey behavior and told Derek that. The other man huffed out a laugh and nuzzled his cheek against the side of Stiles' head. "Yeah, it certainly can be. Not that he doesn't love her and the kids, but-" he trailed off into silence.

Stiles held on for a few more moments, then reluctantly pulled back and looked down at their almost matching boots. Derek needed to embrace some variety in his wardrobe. "Okay, I think I'm good. I didn't throw magic at him or anything, so I don't need an actual recharge, he just startled me."

There was a finger under his chin, lifting it until he was looking Derek in the eyes. "You don't have to defend yourself or how you feel. Not to me. Would you like to see Deaton, now? If not we can postpone this until another day."

Stiles shook his head. “No, I’m fine, we should head out, oh wait,” he trailed off and went to his bookcase, twisting his hand so he could get the mountain ash he’d stored there.

Derek raised his eyebrows and snorted. “You mean you kept that?”

“Hell yeah I kept it, who knows when it could come in handy. Not that I’m thinking of using it against you guys or anything. Well, maybe against Peter, but whatever, I want to know what else it’s good for and if Deaton can get me more, just in case.”

Derek just shook his head and grabbed Stiles’ hand, leading the way down the stairs.

  
  


They were halfway to Deaton’s when Stiles realized what the emotion was coming from Derek through where their hands were joined on the gear-shift.

“Dude, why are you feeling _guilty_?” he asked, completely baffled. As far as he knew Derek hadn’t done anything to feel guilty about, though the guy did seem to have an overabundance of manpain, so maybe he was thinking of a past infraction?

Derek glanced over at him and a hint of nervousness joined the guilt and _what_?

“Seriously, what’s going on?” Stiles said, trying to convey his own understanding, but it was pretty clear that their emotional touching thing was mostly a one-way street. Except that Derek could apparently smell his emotions, so it was kind of fair.

Finally, the werewolf caved. “You’re not going to like my answer,” he warned, looking back at the road.

Stiles frowned. “Okay, tell me anyway.” He really didn’t understand what the reluctance was all about, since earlier they’d had a pretty awkward kink negotiation session where they’d learned quite a lot of potentially embarrassing information about each other. Not that either of them would use that knowledge to _cause_ embarrassment, but still.

Derek cleared his throat, one of his tells. And yeah, whatever he had to say probably wasn’t going to go over well with Stiles. Regardless, he squeezed Derek’s hand in what he hoped was a reassuring and supportive manner.

“I’m feeling guilty,” he started, and hey, that was a pretty awesome way to begin, Derek didn’t seem to really talk about his feelings much, “because I wasn’t there to defend you when my uncle came to your house.” And yeah, he’d been right, that wasn’t exactly the best news Stiles had heard all day.

“Really,” he said flatly, and he could feel Derek’s embarrassment through the bond and it made him dial back on the sass he’d been about to unleash. Instead he sighed and looked out the passenger window. “Is this a mates thing, or-”

“It’s more that I never want you to feel afraid or uncomfortable or threatened and when I’m with you it’s easier for me to ensure nothing like that happens,” Derek said in a quiet rush, his tone and emotions thoughtful and sincere. “I’m not saying I want to lock you up in a tower somewhere, Stiles, but knowing that you’re in danger, or that you feel endangered upsets me. I know you can protect yourself, but I don’t think you should have to do it alone.”

And woah, the flood of ferocious protectiveness that Stiles felt through where they were touching made his face flush with, yeah, palpable desire, and he hadn’t been aware that was such an attractive thing to him, but apparently he was actually part damsel and got off on feeling like he had a fucking werewolf in his corner ready and willing to defend him at any given moment. Whatever, Derek was being sincere and it was clearly how he honestly felt, so Stiles just nodded and rubbed his thumb across the back of Derek’s hand.

“Okay,” he said, “I’m not saying this is going to be easy for us, what with me apparently being a supernatural shitshow magnet and all, but hopefully Dr. Deaton will be able to help us figure things out, and make it easier for me to be home alone without one or both of us freaking out. Sound good?”

Derek glanced at him, like he wasn’t certain if he’d really been let off the hook so easily, but when Stiles smiled he finally broke and kind of maybe smirked a little. “Okay, that sounds good.”

They drove the rest of the way in peaceful silence, and Stiles didn’t even mind the lack of radio or conversation or anything, which was pretty significant because he usually enjoyed background noise when he was in the car. At least he had before he’d met the Hales.

_Huh_.

 

 

The closed sign was up on the clinic door, but it was unlocked when Stiles tried it and he walked in, Derek kind of crowding behind him a little bit, but whatever, he was kind of weird like that sometimes. Stiles lifted the latch on the gate and was about to push it open walk through when Derek’s hand seized his arm.

“Wait,” he said, staring at the wood with his brow furrowed.

“Wha-?”

“Stiles, Derek, it’s good to see you both,” Dr. Deaton said, walking up from the back.

Derek’s hand tightened a bit and Stiles let himself be pulled back, his own hand dropping from the gate.

“Hey, Doc,” Stiles said with a grin, partially because it had always been his goal to make the veterinarian crack a true smile and not just his little smirk he liked to sport, but also because he genuinely liked the guy.

“Deaton,” Derek said gruffly, and Stiles wasn’t sure what his problem was, but he was kind of moody, so that might have been it.

“Why don’t you boys come on back, I’ve just finished cleaning up for the day.” He bent and opened the gate for them and Derek eyed the man suspiciously before grabbing the back of Stiles’ sweatshirt and doing a weird pushing clinging thing to get them past the wooden barrier.

“Oh, hey, is that ash? Like the mountain ash tree and that makes _so much_ sense,” Stiles said, flailing a hand at the pale wood as Derek kept on pushing him further back into the office. “I brought some, actually,” he said, fumbling for the jar in his pocket and only Derek’s superhuman dexterity kept it from falling and shattering onto the floor. “Thanks, dude,” he said and handed it over to Deaton who was trailing behind them and watching the whole thing with a look of mild amusement.

He took the jar and shook it to get a closer look at the contents, then frowned and walked around them and the metal exam table to a cabinet lined with sealed medical containers with different symbols on the outside.

“Is that all magic stuff? Just sitting out where anyone could see?” Stiles asked, moving to get closer, but Derek was still holding onto the back of his hoodie, so he frowned over his shoulder at the keyed up werewolf, who gave no sign of being willing to let go.

“Where did you get this?” Deaton asked instead of answering and Stiles had the impression that was going to be the way things went with them.

“Uh,” Stiles said, “someone gave it to me?” Which he said as a question because he was dumb and also unsure about how much he could legally tell the guy. Especially since there was a law enforcement officer in the room with them.

Derek let out an exasperated breath behind him. “Kate Argent kidnapped him and gave that to him,” he said, and okay, so apparently they weren’t keeping secrets from their friendly neighborhood supernatural expert.

“Yeah,” Stiles continued, “she told me to make a circle around myself with it so my flatmate turned alpha werewolf Charlie and a partially wolfed out Boyd wouldn’t tear me to pieces. It worked, obviously, though Boyd was more concerned with defending me from Charlie than he was in hurting me, so-” he trailed off because Derek was doing a low-grade continuous growl thing in his throat and the dogs in the back of the clinic were starting to get restless and freak out. “Hey, chill out, dude, I’m fine,” Stiles said, twisting around to pat his cheek and look him in his glowing blue eyes. “Seriously, Derek, we’re here for answers, right?”

Derek nodded slowly.

“Then let’s dial down a few notches, okay?”

Another reluctant nod and his acoustics quieted to a dull rumble as his eyes faded back to normal.

When Stiles looked back at Deaton the man was watching them with an intrigued expression. “The substance you have is, indeed, mountain ash. Well, the ash of the burned branches of a mountain ash tree, like the wood out front that you noticed. No supernatural creature may pass through such a barrier without permission, if the person who has lain the ash believes it is unbreachable. The fact that you were able to utilize it as an effective barrier without first having received formal instruction speaks to how powerful a spark you have the potential to become.”

It kind of felt like Stiles had found himself in an alternate universe where he was suddenly a padawan and Deaton was his jedi instructor, which was actually super amazing, but also incredibly distracting, so he tried to clear his mind and focus on what the guy was saying.

“Wait, so how did they even know I was a spark? That’s what I don’t get. Did they just assume because of my mom or?”

    Deaton nodded and set the container of ash on the counter by his loaded cabinet of probably-magical substances and clasped his hands behind his back. “Talia sent me information about a ritual that was performed with you as the focus about a year ago,” he said casually, the same way he said everything, and Stiles felt his pulse quicken in the natural fight or flight reaction he always had when people brought up the Cassandra crap.

He nodded mutely and Derek sidled a bit closer to him. Like his unyielding, ruthless kind of moral support.

Deaton didn’t miss the gesture. “I believe there were marks left behind from the incident. Seeing those will help me determine some things about the ritual, and may even help answer your question.” He gestured to the metal table, like he expected Stiles to get up on there like a gassy poodle.

_Shirtless_.

Yeah, _no_.

“This is really necessary?” he asked, but Derek already had his hot hands sliding up Stiles’ sides under his shirts and before he could protest they were being pulled over his head and he had a choice of either helping or being trapped in them with his bare belly exposed like a helpless turtle.

“Oh, so you’re taking his side, now?” Stiles asked as his head popped free, folding his arms over his chest as Derek calmly took the shirts and began pulling them loose from each other and folding them precisely. Stiles was more of a _wad it up and toss it in the drawer_ kind of a guy. Also, he was kind of pissed.

Derek glanced up at him like he didn’t see the problem at all. “I’m here to help you, Stiles, which is what I’m doing. Your reluctance isn’t going to get us answers.” And Stiles kind of wanted to smack him a bit, but controlled himself because he wasn’t one to express himself through acts of violence, but by using words. Lots of them.

And swearing.

“Are you shitting me right now?” he asked, incredulous. “Do you not remember the conversation we just had when we were sleeping? Because we definitely covered this kind of thing and the fact that it’s _not_ okay.”

“You both shared another dream?” Deaton asked mildly, clearly waiting for Stiles to get over himself and get onto the table, though he was being exceedingly patient about it. Unlike Derek, who was a pushy asshole with consent issues.

"Yeah," Stiles said, glaring at the werewolf and turning his back to him, then jumping up to sit on the table because he was angry and didn't want to look at Derek and also he wanted his shirts back and kind of hated it that stupid Derek was right about getting it over with so that could happen.

"Interesting," Deaton said, ignoring their little relational spat and taking out a pair of glasses so he could get a closer look. "Can you describe the type of blade used?" he said, leaning closer.

Stiles swallowed. He definitely could because he'd stared down at where it had been sticking out of his chest for the entire ride to the hospital. "Yeah, it had a white handle, kind of slippery when wet," he said wryly because it was either use humor or freak out.

"Like bone?" Deaton asked, which put a whole new twist on that already freaky experience.

"Ugh, maybe? Derek, do you know what the report said about it? I remember something about ivory, I think." Stiles twisted to look and Derek was watching him with a conflicted look and Stiles knew that if they touched he'd feel another wave of Derek's guilt.

"It was ivory," he said quietly, sidling just a little closed to the table, but still keeping a respectful distance, Stiles' shirts cradled in his arms.

"And the blade?" Deaton prompted.

Stiles closed his eyes, trying to remember, but the bit that hadn't been buried in his chest had been too covered in blood for him to make out any distinguishing features. He opened his eyes and shook his head.

"Iron," Derek supplied, a little closer than before.

Deaton nodded and stared at Stiles' chest some more, then leaned back. "Well, this individual certainly knew something of what she was doing, though from what I gather she simply wasn't powerful enough to follow through with the ritual on her own."

Stiles gaped at him. "She wasn’t a powerful enough _what_? How the hell did she even know I was a spark, anyway?"

"Lay back, please."

Stiles wasn't impressed with the command, but did as he was told, trying not to be pleased by the fact that Derek had thoughtfully placed his shirts and hoodie on the metal so it wouldn't feel quite as cold against his bare back. He was still kind of upset about the consent thing, though, so he played the pettiness card and didn’t thank Derek for it.

Deaton had an open jar of something in one hand and a golden pendant on a chain in the other. "The woman likely performed a casting similar to the one I’m going to do. It’s more a form of divination than anything else, really,” he said, tipping whatever glittering substance he had into his palm that held the chain, then closing his eyes and letting the pendant swing over Stiles’ bare skin in a hypnotic kind of circle.

“So, what, if it goes counterclockwise that means I’m a witch?” Stiles asked cheekily. It kind of seemed like bogus hokum, actually, and he really hated being shirtless.

Before Deaton could answer the chain suddenly stretched taut and the pendant started to quiver, moving slowly and inexplicably against gravity as it pulled toward Stiles’ heart from where it should have been hanging down above his navel.

“What the?” he asked, but then it suddenly fell slack and swung slowly like he’d have expected.

“Well, that was informative,” Deaton said, but as he was about to pull it away it did the same thing, only it flung out toward Stiles’ right hand and he lifted his head to stare from the quivering pendant to Deaton and back.

“Uh, that normal, Dr. D?”

Deaton’s eyes were slightly wider than they had been before and when he looked at Stiles he knew something pretty shitty had happened. “Stiles,” he said with carefully measured calm, “what have you touched recently that wasn’t yours?”

So, yeah, that was going to be a long conversation. He sighed and rested his head back against his hoodie and avoided Derek’s concerned gaze.

_Great_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Storytime!  
> I once had a concussion so severe I almost had to wear a helmet (as a senior in hs, no less, but it turned out my skull wasn't cracked, so no potential seizures for me), and was basically a zombie for a few days, so my mom had to sit in the bathroom with me while I took baths to make sure I didn't drown and my hips and torso were fucking covered in hickies which is pretty much how she found out I was sexually active. She then proceeded to scour my room for contraband while I was laying there in bed like an invalid (my brain was fucking scrambled) and she found a thong and brightly colored condoms one of my asshole friends had gotten for me as a joke. So. That was a whole lot of awkward. Also, my mom's a SUPER MORMON, which makes it even better.  
> I have no idea why that story popped into my head, but yeah, hickies can lead to all kinds of awkward situations.   
> Also, I'm pretty stoked to finally be an adult so I don't have to put up with the inquisitions anymore.


	13. Chapter 13

“I don’t know,” he said for what felt like the _seven hundredth time_ , flailing his hands up and suddenly not even caring that his grotesquely scarred chest was on display because he was fucking tired of being asked the exact same question over and over again. “I touched tons of stuff at your house, Derek, I touched stuff at my house, I touched stuff at the grocery store, I _touched things_ , okay! That's what I do! When I go to a clothing store and see something that looks soft I touch _all of that thing_. I'm a toucher!"

Deaton, the man in possession of seemingly endless patience, merely nodded and turned from where he’d put away the divination equipment. “It’s unlikely that the item was in either of your homes, so let’s focus on the store you went to today. Would you say you had any unusual interactions with anyone there?”

Stiles frowned and looked at his hands, which seemed perfectly normal and not at all like they’d gotten all up on some weird thing that would apparently trigger some kind of magical spell alarm thing except, “Wait. Yeah, there was something,” he said, suddenly remembering the ancient old lady and that wasn’t fucking fair at all. Old ladies were used as scapegoats in old movies, they weren't actually magical hags, not in real life.Then again, people weren’t supposed to be able to morph into wolves or summon lightning, either, so it was probably just a matter of perspective.

Derek had given up his stoic guilt trip and was crowding against Stiles’ side with all the subtlety of a needy puppy, so Stiles blindly grabbed onto his wrist so they’d at least have some physical contact, hoping the man would calm the hell down before his anxiety gave him a sympathetic panic attack.

“Go on,” Deaton said with the first hint of pressure, like the anticipation was actually getting to him.

Stiles took a fortifying breath and told them as much as he remembered about the silk bag and the lumpy stuff inside of it and the more he described the interaction the more closed off Deaton’s expression became until it was just a blank mask that definitely did not bode well for Stiles.

"So, what does that mean?" he asked cautiously. At some point instead of Derek's wrist he'd ended up holding his hand and even though he realized it he didn't let go or anything like that because he really didn't feel like it. Derek's other arm moved around to rest over his bare shoulders in a warm, comforting half-embrace. That was, until Stiles remembered how it was that his torso had become bare and his previous indignation was reignited in a slow burning kind of anger.

Deaton frowned. "Just a moment, I have to check something," he said, and walked out of the room and _okay_?

"Uh, so that's probably not good," Stiles felt inclined to point out and Derek made a grumbling noise next to him. "Oh, hey, I can probably put on my shirts, now, right? And that whole stripping me thing?" he said as he twisted to get his tshirt, dislodging Derek's at the same time. "That wasn't cool. I'm not okay with that."

Derek whined, a true canine noise and it made Stiles pause with just his arms through the sleeves of the fabric as he looked disbelievingly at the other man.

"Dude, _seriously_? I'm allowed to be upset with you for breaking our whole consent agreement thing. I can't trust you not to break some of my bigger rules if you're so willing to ignore the little ones, not that consent is a small issue because it _isn't_ , it's a _huge deal_. It's not even about the shirts," he said as he pulled on the plaid overshirt, "it's about the fact that you treated my body like a thing for you to manipulate and control without my permission. I am _absolutely_ not okay with that."

It kind of looked like Derek was about to cry.

Stiles finally dragged his hoodie over his head, relishing in the familiar comfort of the worn fabric as he pulled it down. "I need to be able to trust you all the time with my body, not just when we're alone or having sex or whatever. _All the time_ , dude."

Deaton walked in before Derek could respond, not that he seemed all that ready to verbalize a defense or apology of any kind, which seemed like a pretty standard operating procedure for the guy so whatever. He could take his time while the vet told them just how fucked they were.

"Stiles, I believe both women were working as emissaries for the same pack," Deaton said, not looking overly pleased about the information.

"Emissaries? Is that like what you do?" Stiles asked, not reacting when Derek's hand slowly crept onto the small of his back over his sweatshirt.

Deaton nodded. "I am the Hale pack's emissary. My role is to keep their ancestral territory free of any encroaching packs or beings who wish them harm and to assist in anything the alpha might need, from healing to advice and so on."

"But you don't go trying to knife people's hearts out, do you?" he asked, not thinking so, but it didn't hurt to check.

"No, Stiles, that's not the kind of pack Talia runs." Which meant there were other types that definitely condoned that kind of behavior.

_Fucking hell._

“So what kind of a pack would do something like that?” he asked, resisting the urge to settle back against Derek’s hand because the guy seemed to better understand tangible things, so he wasn’t going to cave in and give him what he wanted, which was a kind of physical show of forgiveness.

Deaton glanced between the two of them, then finally nodded. “There are packs where the alpha rules with an iron fist. Think of it as more of a dictatorship than a democracy.”

“Isn’t Talia’s gig kind of like a monarchy, though?” Stiles asked, looking back at Derek who had definitely been sniffing him. The weirdo.

Derek nodded. "Mother is our alpha and we follow her instructions, but we know she's always looking out for the good of the pack, even if we don't understand the how or why of it at the time."

And clearly he'd given it thought, or had had the situation explained to him at some point. Stiles could imagine Laura sitting down with her brother and going over the way things worked in their family.

"So other packs are less democratic or monacratic? Whatever." he said, sliding his hands into his hoodie pocket in what he recognized was a means of self-comfort.

"Indeed," Deaton replied, rifling around his potion cabinet, as Stiles had taken to calling it in his head. "There are some alphas that rule with an iron fist, you would say, while there are a few highly unusual packs that are far more brutal than you could imagine."

"An alpha pack?" Derek said, his voice thick with shock and horror.

Stiles twisted to look at him and was stunned to see the same emotions evident on his face. He looked much younger, suddenly, and the fear in his eyes made Stiles' gut wrench uncomfortably.

"What the hell does that mean?" he asked, and when Derek seemed too stunned to answer he turned to Deaton, who was clearly disgruntled.

"It means you're going to have to work on your defensive techniques and that Talia will have to enter into negotiations with that pack to ensure the safety of hers."

Which was kind of a bullshit answer, but then again it was Deaton.

"Great, fine, teach me. Hey, so you're an emissary, but what does that actually mean? You're not a spark, right? Do other packs have sparks? The way Peter talked about it made it sound kind of uncommon."

Derek got his rumbling under control before Stiles could look back at him, but his brand of possessiveness was both a tiny bit comforting and also kind of annoying.

It was Deaton who answered, though. "I, like most emissaries, am a druid. And you are correct, sparks don't commonly join packs and are normally free agents who tend to assist those in need, should their services be sought and paid for."

Huh. So his mom had been a kind of freelance witch? Sort of? And Deaton was a _druid_?

_What the hell?_

"So druid as in Celtic mythology type druid or am I way off base, here?" He asked, and Deaton gave him the same enigmatic smile he'd long grown used to that said the man wasn’t going to give a clear response to the question.

"Something like that," he non-answered.

Which, yeah, Stiles was actually surprised that Deaton had been so open and honest with them up to that point, so he wasn't exactly shocked when he rediscovered his cloak of vague mystery and evasiveness.

_Whatever_.

“So, you going to teach me magic or what?” Stiles asked swinging his legs under the table. He was kind of bummed that there didn’t seem to be anything to bang his boots against under there, well besides the table legs, but then again that would probably have been pretty annoying so he just kept on swinging instead. It helped him express some of his nervous energy.

He could feel Derek's hand clench on the back of his hoodie and kind of wished the guy weren't such a douchewolf so he could twist around and capture his hand or do something to gain even more physical contact because Stiles had a feeling things were going to take a turn for the unpleasant.

Deaton moved away from where he'd been selecting various vials. "To begin, we're going to need to see what elements you're strongest at manipulating," he said. "There's a tub in the next room we'll need to fill for the first test."

Yeah, that was probably going to suck.

  
  


Stiles didn’t even remember leaving the clinic, or the drive home, or anything really, until he felt something tugging on his arms and he finally opened his eyes to check it out and saw Derek looming above him, pulling off his shirts.

“Wha-”

“Go to sleep, Stiles,” Derek interrupted quietly, finally freeing him of his hoodie and plaid overshirt. He could feel cool air on his stomach and figured his tshirt much have gotten rucked up in the process. Derek’s warm hands smoothed it down over his stomach and he let out a happy sigh.

“What’s up?” he asked as the other man began working on his lower half, removing the boots and carefully unbuttoning and unzipping his jeans in a perfunctory, yet gentle manner. Which was good because Stiles was definitely not up for doing anything other than laying there and probably passing out sooner rather than later.

At first he thought Derek wasn’t going to respond to his question, but he finally sighed. “Do you remember the testing? Deaton said you might not, especially after you invoked lightning and blew out the clinic’s power, then passed out from the strain.”

Stiles narrowed his eyes at the familiar ceiling of his room, then shook his head. His hair was still damp from the tub, which had been full of cold water and hadn’t done anything other than make Stiles shiver. He assumed Derek had helped dress him after he’d failed that test, though he couldn’t remember much of what had happened past that point.

“Deaton was impressed by your abilities,” Derek said quietly as he finished pulling off Stiles’ jeans.

He could hear the sound of fabric rustling, like the guy was folding his clothes again and he smiled into the darkness. “Dude, just toss them in the basket, I’ll wash ‘um later,” he said and then yawned and closed his eyes.

“You don’t need to use detergent on them,” Derek grumbled quietly and Stiles smiled.

“Bought some scentless stuff today,” he admitted, “figured you’d prefer if I didn’t smell like artificial flowers.”

Derek stilled, suddenly completely silent. “You thought about that?” he finally asked, and then the noise of clothes rustling continued.

Stiles hummed in reply, then suddenly remembered his previous anger, but was too tired to dredge it back up in full force, so he sighed, instead. “You understand why I was mad about the shirts?” he asked, words slurring together a bit as he felt himself sink languidly against the mattress.

Something, the blankets, slid up his bare legs and over his arms until they were tucked in around his shoulders.

“I understand that you felt upset with me for what I did, but do you understand why I felt it was necessary?”

“Because you were afraid,” Stiles said. That’s basically what it boiled down to, really. Derek had been afraid for him and had acted impulsively instead of waiting to discuss it. “Still not okay, though.”

He felt Derek’s hand slide under the blankets until it found his, warm fingers gliding over the ridges of his knuckles. “I’m sorry I didn’t wait for your consent,” Derek said, guilt flooding through Stiles until his arm twitched from it.

“Apology accepted,” he replied slowly, “but you know I have a huge problem with that kind of thing, right? It can be kind of triggery for me.”

“Triggery?” Derek asked, his remorse still palpable and mixed with confusion.

Stiles really wasn’t interested in getting into it, but Derek was clearly willing to listen so he finally nodded. “Yeah, triggery. Makes me have flashbacks to times when people, past boyfriend and girlfriends, have used me and manipulated me and, you know, stabbed me in the chest. Generally makes me feel unclean and unsafe and can even give me panic attacks, sometimes. That’s why I wanted to have that discussion earlier, about consent. It’s a pretty big deal.”

Derek’s panic was making Stiles’ pulse elevate and his chest kind of seize and he snapped his eyes open to find the werewolf was blue-eyed and _stricken_.

“Do you get it, now?” Stiles asked, kind of hating that he felt the need to check but wanting to encourage a verbal confirmation of Derek’s obvious realization.

“I get it,” he said thickly, his regret so potent it brought tears to Stiles’ eyes.

“Good, now come here, if you want to cuddle. I want to cuddle, but if you need some space you should take care of yourself.”

Derek hesitated for a fraction of a second before he was pulling back the covers and sliding onto the bed, maneuvering Stiles’ limp body to rest on top of him, their bare legs tangling.

“I wasn’t thinking of that,” Derek admitted, delicately rubbing his face against Stiles’ still damp hair. “I would never want you to feel like that around me, that you can’t trust me.”

“Actions speak louder than words in this case,” Stiles murmured against the hot plane of Derek’s lightly haired chest, his eyes drifting shut as his body relaxed against the warmth. “Though words are good, too,” he felt compelled to add.

Derek ran a hand down Stiles’ spine over his shirt. “May I touch your skin?” he asked cautiously.

Stiles couldn’t help but smile because Derek was _finally_ getting it.

“Yeah,” he replied. It was a bit silly, actually, since he was sprawled out all over Derek’s bare chest, but whatever, it was also kind of a monumental show of consideration.

His hand slipped under Stiles’ shirt and rested on the small of his back. They both relaxed noticeably at the contact.

“What did it look like?” Stiles asked, lips barely moving against Derek’s skin.

The other man grunted in reply and shifted so Stiles figured he was looking down at him, but he was too tired to open his own eyes and check.

“You’re going to have to be a bit more specific,” Derek finally said, tightening his arms around Stiles' in a comforting, firm embrace and he suddenly realized why it was called _having an anchor_. His anchor, Derek, was a tangible kind of force that kept him grounded and safe and sane. Stiles nuzzled his cheek against the impossibly soft skin where it was resting in response to the growing sensation of Derek’s own contentment.

“When I did the lightning thing,” he mumbled, pretty much done talking, but wanting to hear Derek’s voice rumble through his chest where his ear was pressed.

The other man made a noise of contemplation. “Well, things are different when I’m a wolf. Colors are muted, movement is easier to track, spaces take on a different dimension, my sense of smell is heightened and my hearing is sharper.”

Stiles gave an inquisitive hum in response.

“And,” the other man continued slowly, “I’m also able to see better in the dark. It’s a bit of a trade off, since my mind is more occupied by my senses than in focusing on my rationality or humanity. So, the first time, when I saw her,” there was a flash of rage through their bond and Stiles huffed out a disgruntled whine. Derek stopped and ran his hand up and down Stiles’ spine in a soothing line for a moment, calming them both down before he continued. “When I saw her and realized what she was about to do, that she was going to hurt you, my instincts took over and I lunged, but then there was this brilliant flash of light that illuminated the entire room and burned a stark afterimage in my eyes for a long moment afterward. When I was finally able to see again, you were dragging yourself up off of the floor and I knew you were okay, but I wasn’t certain how you’d react to me as a wolf, especially since you’d just cast such an amazing manifestation of power, so I ran back to the other part of the warehouse to make sure all of the other threats had been eliminated.”

It was more than Stiles could remember having heard him say and that fact alone caused him to smile, but then he remembered what had happened to Kate and he kissed the patch of skin under his lips, just above the steady thudding of Derek’s heart.

“Sorry you had to kill someone,” he whispered.

Derek hummed. “I’m not. It had to be done to ensure your safety, and I will do it again if it’s necessary.”

Stiles sincerely hoped it wouldn’t be, but he was too tired to discuss it.

  
  


They were laying in the familiar sunny field in the same position as how they’d fallen asleep and Stiles wasn’t nearly as exhausted as he had been, but despite his sudden renewal of energy he made no effort to move.

“You know,” he said, voice as strong as normal. “I’ve been developing a theory about the whole recovery part of my magical expenditure and post-casting exhaustion.”

Beneath him Derek grunted and Stiles snorted in amusement.

“Non-verbal you reminds me of a caveman. Cavewerewolf. Cavewolf? I don’t know, whatever. So, my theory,” he stretched out his legs and wasn’t even surprised when he realized they were both naked, “has to do, in part, with proximity. When I did my magic the first time, you weren’t very close to me at the beginning and then you said my temperature and heartbeat got all out of whack, and _then_ we cuddled on the bed and for a lot of the next day because I was still pretty drained.”

Derek grunted again.

“Dude, you’re killing me with your sudden non-talking after that awesome stuff you just told me about being a wolf. What happened? Did you run out of words? Is there some limit or something as to how much you can talk a day and you hit your number and now you’re not allowed to speak?”

“Or I just don’t feel like it,” Derek grumbled, but he was sliding his hands up and down Stiles’ back, so whatever, it wasn’t like the guy was mad or anything. He was actually feeling pretty content. “Keep going,” he requested quietly.

Stiles huffed a laugh. “Fine, fine. So, yeah, that happened. But then I was thinking about when I was injured, with my knees and hips and all that, and then again with the bruise on my face and the split lip. Both of those times I healed overnight after we, uh, after we had sex, in reality and in our dream.” Which was actually kind of awkward to point out, but it’s what had happened.

Derek was curious, and Stiles waited until the other man finally sighed and asked, “So?” before he continued with a wide grin.

“ _So_ , I’m thinking that we should do some experimenting with the whole proximity thing. I postulate that I could recover more quickly from using my magic if we were to be a little, ahem, _closer_ , as opposed to just cuddling.”

“You want to have sex, right now, as a kind of _experiment_?” Derek asked flatly.

Stiles shrugged, and brought one of his hands up to trace the veins visible on the other man’s powerful arm. “Pretty much, unless this is you objecting, which you are allowed to do at any point. I’m not going to try to use sex as a weapon against you, or guilt you into it, so, you know, open communication is key. If you don’t want to we don’t have to, it’s just an idea.”

Derek seemed to be thinking about it, his hands stroking slowly up and down Stiles’ spine in firm, warm lines. “Even though we’re here, in this dreamscape, I can still hear what’s going on in your room and outside. It feels like I could slip out of the dream easily enough in case anything happens.”

Which was pretty much his way of saying yes, but Stiles still wanted to be sure.

“That’s awesome, that you feel like you’d be able to defend us,” he said and could feel Derek’s pride like the hot kiss of the sun on his skin. He made a mental note to compliment the other man more often, since that kind of reaction was pretty amazing. “It’s up to you what happens, now, though.”

The hands made another round from his lower back, up to his shoulders and down again, but instead of stopping where they’d started they slipped lower and then Stiles was grinning against where his cheek was pressed, warmth and contentment and desire flooding through him, a combination of his own feelings and Derek’s and he didn’t fight back his delighted chuckle.

“Yes,” he whispered in relief, “I hoped you’d pick that option.”

Derek hummed. “Oh, really,” he said, squeezing Stiles’ ass.

He rested his chin on Derek’s chest and looked him in the eyes. “Yes, _really_ , and now you get to pick again,” he said, a little nervous, actually, but confident that Derek wouldn’t push his boundaries too far.

“Pick again?” Derek asked, his confusion quickly fading into understanding and a powerful surge of want. “Are you certain?”

He hummed in response, raising his eyebrows.

Derek shook a bit as he laughed silently. “Are you becoming non-verbal, now?”

Stiles shrugged, grinning.

But then the other man sobered, his hands sliding back up to rest on his lower back, holding him. “Are you sure, Stiles? I mean after what happened earlier, do you really trust me with this?”

It was a sobering question, one that Stiles could easily dismiss with another shrug or a smile or whatever, but he gave it the consideration it deserved, that Derek deserved.

“In order for us to build trust with each other, we’re going to make mistakes and we’re going to hurt each other, that’s just a natural part of forming a relationship, but I’ve explained to you my feelings and I think you listened, so I’m willing to give it a shot if you’re comfortable enough to try as well.”

Derek was silent for a long moment, his breathing deep and even and his expression slightly broody. Stiles could feel his confliction, but eventually that faded once again into a mixture of desire and gratitude.

“I get to pick?” he asked with a kind of adorable shyness that made Stiles smile.

He nodded, and then there was soft grass underneath him and a long line of warm werewolf pressing him down. “Well, then I choose to, how did you put it? Ah, yes, _I just want to worship you with my mouth_. How does that sound?” he asked with a cheeky grin. A real grin that made his eyes sparkle and his face light up with glee.

Stiles felt himself blushing as he smiled back. “That sounds pretty fucking fantastic,” he said, and then Derek’s mouth was on his, kissing away his words and thoughts and _yes_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyone else a toucher of all the things? I can't keep my hands off something if it looks soft, I just, I have no impulse control when that's the case.  
> And yes, next chapter should have sexy times...none today because...of reasons...like the fact that I'm not feeling it at this precise moment in time? Idk, that's a terrible excuse.  
> Oh, and my parents are apparently moving to Uruguay because they're paranoid about the economy collapsing, just in case you're wondering how my life is going.


	14. Chapter 14

Derek’s tongue. Full stop.

That was it. Just. _Derek’s tongue_.

Stiles wasn’t sure how he’d even known what pleasure even felt like before the impossibly attractive werewolf and his deviously talented tongue had entered the scene. All previous encounters of a sexual nature paled like faded cloth abandoned in the sun in comparison to the awesome, ferocious intensity of Derek and his fucking _tireless_ tongue.

Worshiped? Stiles felt like he was being _taken apart_.

“Fuck, Derek,” he moaned, definitely not for the first time as the man lapped his way down the sensitive skin of Stiles’ stomach, nipping at the coarse trail of hair that was basically pointing the way to his weeping dick before he licked his way back up to Stiles' collarbone in a glorious, tortureous path that didn’t go close enough to any of his more sensitive erogenous zones, so he just had to take it, achingly hard, but unable to come from the tremulous slow-build of pleasure.

Derek hummed, almost a purr, and grinned down at him as he broke away from the exquisite torture to pepper Stiles' sweaty face with delicate kisses. "Not going to fuck you right now," he said lightly, like it was all a game and for some reason that turned Stiles on even more.

“You’re a menace,” Stiles said, or tried to say, but then Derek’s tongue was at it again, tracing Stiles’ lips and dipping into his mouth and Stiles moaned around it, arching up, but the was nothing to grind himself against since Derek was sprawled beside him and he’d already gotten in trouble for trying to take matters into his own hands, so he just gripped the grassy earth in both fists and panted as Derek nipped lightly at his chin and neck and down his body in precise little jolts of pleasurable pain. Which felt divine, but still _wasn’t enough_.

Stiles was lightheaded from the rush of pleasure and his breathless moaning and the feel of Derek’s mouth so concentrated and precise against the exceptionally tender skin of his inner thighs and Stiles had to close his eyes against the surging waves of want that rolled through his body until his muscles ached from it.

He wasn’t even aware he’d been _mewling_ until Derek’s hands were suddenly gripping his ribcage and he was shushing Stiles. “Easy,” he whispered as Stiles’ eyes snapped opened. Derek was right there, concerned but also so incredibly turned on it was a wonder he was still able to function. “Tell me what you need,” Derek said quietly, leaning down to brush their noses together, his lips just grazing, breath mingling as Stiles tried to slow his frantic panting.

“You,” he managed, and Derek grinned.

“Always,” he replied, then dragged his hands down Stiles’ body until they were holding firmly onto his hips. “Remember to breathe, Stiles,” he said cheekily.

Stiles somehow summoned the energy to lift his head and glare down at where Derek was kneeling in to the grass, focused on Stiles’ cock and the rebuttal he’d been about to make staggered from his lips in a broken moan as Derek opened his mouth, wet his lips, and slowly, persistently swallowed Stiles’ cock.

“Ung,” he said instead of whatever it was, his eyes closing as his neck arched, head pressing against the soft earth. His hands trembled, clutching dirt and grass and not entwined in Derek’s hair because that would have been rude and fuck the man’s mouth was a furnace as he licked and _hollowed his fucking cheeks_ and _sucked_ Stiles’ _brains out_ through his dick because he couldn’t even form words when faced with the glorious ecstasy of Derek’s _fucking mouth_.

He wasn’t going to last long, not faced by that kind of an onslaught, panting and moaning and keening as Derek’s tongue licked a line up the underside of his cock, attending to that spot just under the head like he had on Derek’s dick and oh, _fuck_ , the guy learned quickly, Stiles was not prepared for that kind of-

“F-fuck,” he stuttered, too wrung out to care about anything but the building waves of pleasure, “gonna,” he managed and Derek’s hot mouth was on him again, swallowing down to the root of Stiles’ cock and he wasn’t sure what was happening anymore and then there was a blinding kind of a light, all over his body and Derek’s and then he was coming hard with a punched out grunt, firm hands holding his hips and pressing him against the ground as the orgasm tore through him in a potent surge or pleasure.

Stiles’ body slowly unclenched, one aching muscle at a time as Derek gradually pulled back, letting Stiles’ softening dick slip from between his bruised lips to rest against his twitching thigh.

“That was beautiful,” he said, voice rough _from sucking Stiles’ cock_ and that was never not going to be astonishingly hot, but Stiles was too fucked-out to do more than hum wordlessly in reply. Derek huffed out a laugh. “You’re quite responsive,” he said, kissing a path back up to Stiles’ mouth, nuzzling his scruff against the tender skin of his lips. “I like that about you, makes it so much fun to unravel you.” And god damn that was hot, but Stiles was fucking spent.

Finally, he managed a breathy, “You?” and Derek chuckled, tucking his face against Stiles’ neck in what could possibly be a show of shyness, though he didn’t seem to feel embarrassed, so whatever.

“I came before you did, Stiles, minutes ago. I wasn’t joking, you’re unbelievably gorgeous when you’re stretched out for me like this.” Derek punctuated his confession by pressing more kisses against Stiles’ neck and he couldn’t help but smile warmly up at the bright, endless blue.

  
  


They woke to an overcast winter sky visible through the open blinds, come-crusted sheets, and both of their phones vibrating furiously on Stiles’ desk.

Derek was the one who eventually dragged himself out of bed and Stiles delighted in watching the other man’s bare ass as he padded across the room and picked them both up, taking a second of owlish blinking to figure out which was his, and tossing Stiles’ onto the bed next to him. And it was Erica calling because of course it was.

“What’s up?” he asked with a scratchy voice as Derek answered his own phone and wandered over to the closet door, picking at the wood of the frame, completely unselfconscious about the fact that he was stark naked in the light of day, and Stiles could _definitely_ get behind the man’s nudist tendencies.

“Stilinski!” she crowed way too joyfully for whatever time it was in the morning, “Those cookies were amazing and I expect you to pay me in those in the future.”

He grunted, tucking his other arm behind his head. The pillow had disappeared at some point and he didn’t feel like leaning over the edge of the bed to find it. “Oh, really? And what, exactly, am I going to be paying you for? This isn’t going to turn into some kind of a blackmail thing is it? I don’t know if I could afford that many bags of chocolate chips.”

Erica laughed, sharp and quick, what he’d come to learn was the happy noise she made at the expense of someone else, and that was fine because it was him. “Naw, well, maybe. Anyway, Talia and Rollin arrived and want you to come to dinner tonight, so you’re going to be here whether you want to be or not.”

Because of course she’d called about something like that. He wasn’t actually sure how he felt about the whole _meeting the parents_ bit of his and Derek’s relationship coming so quickly after they’d finally sort of figured out what they meant to each other, and _Jesus_ , they were basically _married_ before they’d even had most of the standard relationship conversations. At least that’s what it felt like because of the whole mates and anchor thing. And Stiles didn’t even know what type of _music_ Derek liked and that was completely fucking _tragic_.

“I’ll get back to you,” he told Erica and hung up before she could protest.

Derek turned to face him, his eyebrows raised as he listened to whoever was talking to him on the line. Stiles made grabby hands at him and the werewolf rolled his eyes, but walked closer all the same.

"I'll call you back, Laura. Yes, of course you know where I am, don't be obtuse. I know, yes, _I know_. Bye." He hung up and wordlessly took both of the phones back, setting them on the nightstand and crawling onto the bed, his bulk holding Stiles down against the mattress in a comforting press.

"Dinner at the Hale's tonight?" Stiles guessed, though he knew that's what was happening.

Derek hummed a response and reached up to slip his fingers into Stiles' hair, carding them through the probably fluffy and crazy-looking strands. "Only if you want to," he said, his nervousness coming through even though he was trying hard not to show it.

"It's a big deal, isn't it?” Stiles asked, “Especially since our whole thing is kind of unusual?"

In response, the other man bent his head and kissed the scarred tissue on the center of Stiles' chest. "This is me," Derek said softly, "letting you take the lead. If you want to go, we'll go, but if you're not up for it we won't. No pressure."

"My choice, huh? You're letting me take the lead?"

"Yes."

Stiles grinned down at him. "Well, let's hope I'm as good at it as you are. Jesus, Derek, your fucking _tongue_ ," he barely managed not to toss his head back in remembered ecstasy, but Derek's satisfied smirk told him he knew exactly how pleased Stiles was with the previous night’s activities. "Oh, and hey, I think it actually worked," he said, kind of impressed with himself and his leap of logic. "I don't feel tired at all, not like I did the last time."

Derek moved his hands up so he was bracing himself with his arms on either side of Stiles' head. "It probably wouldn't hurt to check, though, right?"

Stiles grinned and slid his hands up the corded muscles of Derek's forearms. "You know, I was thinking," he said, tangling their legs, "I have no idea what kind of music you like." He braced a foot on the mattress and knocked one of Derek's arms out from under him and twisted so he was suddenly straddling the larger man.

Derek looked a bit stunned, actually, as Stiles grinned down at him, their soft cocks just beginning to get with the program and he moved them together experimentally, relishing in the rapidly growing pleasure.

"So," Stiles continued, running his hands up and down Derek's chest in a rough kind of massage that made the other man's breath hitch, "music?"

Derek opened his mouth as a knock sounded at his door, followed by his dad's voice calling his name.

"Fruit salad!" Stiles called out, scrambling off of Derek to stand and tossing the sheet onto the clearly confused man as he wrapped the comforter around his own body like he was a burrito. Once they were covered he took a deep breath. "Okay, yeah, we're good."

His dad cracked the door cautiously, then smirked. "Uh, huh, well I just wanted to tell you that I'm working through tonight, so I'll see you sometime tomorrow. Derek."

"Sheriff."

With one last amused look, his dad left, closing the door firmly behind him and Stiles shuffled to the bed, collapsing in the narrow space left beside where Derek was stretched out and pulled the blanket over his head to make a kind of cocoon.

He could hear Derek chuckle, though. "Why did you yell _fruit salad_?" He asked, his hands patting around until they found one of the edges of the blanket and he started to pull it, slowly but unyieldingly until he'd bared Stiles' grumpy face.

"It's code, obviously," he mumbled, totally embarrassed by the whole thing.

"Obviously," Derek replied, working his hands further into Stiles' wrapping. His touch revealed his amusement and contentment and that he wasn't even a little bit ashamed of having been discovered by the sheriff, naked in his son's bed. He was actually a bit curious and Stiles finally relented with a sigh, letting Derek pull the blanket open so they could touch properly.

"Fine, when Dad knocks and I say something food related that's code for me being either in a compromising position or just too busy to talk at that moment in time, but that I can wrap it up quickly."

"Food related," Derek said flatly.

Stiles shrugged. "Better than telling I'm masturbating or something like that."

Derek made a considering face. “I suppose that’s true, but what if you can’t _wrap it up quickly_? Then what do you say?” His hands moved over Stiles’ shoulders and back, soothing and warm.

“Then I make a cowboy reference,” Stiles said with a shrug.

It was pretty obvious Derek didn’t quite believe him.

“You know, I’m wrangling steers, the rodeo’s in town, my stirrups are caught on the curtains, that kind of thing.”

Derek was biting his lips, but then it was like the force of it just couldn’t be contained any longer and he let out a loud laugh, his body shaking and Stiles’ couldn’t help but join him.

They spent more time giggling and kissing and touching, but the erotic mood had passed in favor of their shared emotional lightness and a pervading sense of peace. Eventually, Stiles finally sighed and placed one last kiss against Derek’s warm neck, enjoying the shudder that followed.

“Should probably shower,” he said, still kind of reluctant to get on with the day, but he had to learn more about his magic usage and he wanted to check some things from the Wisconsin case because he still had questions about who all those other people had been that had kidnapped him, but didn’t think Derek would be all that willing to answer if he asked.

Derek grunted and turned to rub his rough stubble against Stiles’ forehead.

“Hey, now,” he said, chuckling and batting at him playfully. “No marks on my face, dude, this is the moneymaker?”

“Oh, really, you mean this isn’t?” Derek asked, hands suddenly on Stiles’ ass and he squawked indignantly.

“You’re a total dick, Derek Hale,” he accused, but then he was being hauled further onto the other man and they were kissing and it wasn’t really that bad at all.

“Does that mean you don’t want to shower with me?” Derek asked, the sly devil.

Stiles pouted against his lips and relished in the other man’s answering laugh. Finally, he huffed out a breath and let himself collapse against Derek’s chest. “Ugh, if we shower together we probably won’t accomplish _anything_ today. Well, besides achieving more orgasms.”

“Orgasms _are_ important,” Derek said, his hands still gripping Stiles’ ass and he pressed them together in a delicious grind.

“Agreed,” Stiles said against Derek’s skin, but then he propped himself up, elbows on the other man’s chest with his chin cradled against his fists. “But, we also need to clean the crusted come off our bodies and get some food because I’m _starving_.”

Derek’s hands finally traced up his body until he was holding Stiles’ face. “Your dad just left, so why don’t we do some yoga for a few minutes, then we can shower, and _then_ I’ll make you breakfast.”

That sounded pretty much perfect, actually. Stiles grinned and leaned in to kiss him. And then it took them a few more minutes to actually get out of bed after that.

  
  


Stiles had gotten a pretty good handle on the whole yoga thing, at least that’s what he’d thought before they threw nudity in the mix. It was just kind of really distracting that way, watching the taut lines of Derek’s body as he flowed like spilled silk from one form to the next and it made Stiles lose his balance and fall over more than once.

Derek noticed, of course, and just raised an inquisitive eyebrow while Stiles picked himself up off the floor and gracelessly restarted where he’d left off.

Again.

“I’m failing today, maybe it’s the magic stuff,” he huffed, attempting a sun salutation, but his limbs didn’t seem to want to cooperate and he overbalanced, listing sideways like a capsizing ship.

“You’re trying too hard,” Derek said, which really wasn’t very helpful _at all_.

Stiles glared over his shoulder at him, but it was actually pretty difficult to be mad at the guy when they were both naked and post-coital. But still. “Your face is trying too hard,” Stiles snarked because he was kind of petty, sometimes.

Derek rolled his eyes. “That doesn’t even make sense, Stiles. Come here, we can try a pose together. Maybe that’ll help.”

He kind of wanted to resist, but then again he also felt a kind of pull to be closer to Derek because apparently he was suddenly super needy or something, but couldn’t really find it in himself to care all that much, so in the end he caved and went to where the other man was still stretching like a goddamned leopard. The stupid graceful werewolf.

“Would you like to be the base or the acrobat?” Derek asked, which was kind of a new thing because normally he just automatically chose his position as the base and that was pretty neat that he thought to ask Stiles his opinion.

But still, he wasn’t feeling entirely stable, so he relented easily. “Acrobat, I think you should do all the work,” Stiles said with a smirk and that earned him an eyeroll and some sassy eyebrows and made him grin even wider.

“Just get over here,” Derek said, folding himself down into a squat and rolling back on the floor with his hands and arms stretched out toward Stiles.

He wasn’t exactly sure what kind of a position they were going for, but the mystery kind of made things even more exciting. Stiles stepped closer and pressed his hips against Derek’s feet, pushing so the other man’s knees bent, then stretched his hands out to grip his forearms.

Derek pulled him forward by smooth degrees, lifting him effortlessly until he was suspended overhead, the man’s feet a comfortable pressure against his hips and upper thighs while his hands gradually released Stiles’ arms, twisting so their palms and forearms were pressed together, instead, and they were looking directly into each other’s eyes.

“Well, this is kind of intense,” Stiles said, tracking the other man’s gorgeous features, softly lit by the white winter light filtering in through the window.

“I still can’t believe having sex is a viable cure for your post-casting fatigue,” Derek grumbled and Stiles giggled at him, feeling his body shake, but Derek didn’t even seem to mind at all, giving a faint smile of his own as his amusement came through their bond.

Eventually, Stiles gathered the courage to lean forward, delighting in the way that Derek accommodated his unspoken request until his hands were braced on the other man’s shoulders and their lips were pressing together. “You know,” Stiles said as he pulled back, “sometime soon I’m going to be the base.” He waggled his eyebrows and Derek snorted.

“The yoga base? Or is this a sex thing?”

Stiles grinned. “What do you think?”

Derek sighed good-naturedly. “I think you’re kind of a dork,” he admitted, amused.

“Whatever, you like it,” Stiles said, and leaned in for another kiss, grinning against Derek’s mouth.

  
  


Despite Derek’s pouting, which was pretty epic, actually, Stiles insisted they shower separately and let the other man go ahead. He puttered around his room until he heard the water start, then logged onto his computer and brought up his encrypted  browser and went into the Beacon Hills Police Department records with his pirated log-in.

He clicked around for a few seconds, quickly checking on a few open cases he knew his dad had been working on before he searched for himself and scrolled down past Cassandra and the hospital and the apartment basement and the Jesus he needed a new hobby that didn’t include being assaulted by psychotic assholes, and eventually came to the entry for the warehouse incident.

It turned out that nine people had been killed and he idly read down the list. Most were men, with the exception of Kate and another woman whose name he didn’t recognize. Well, he didn’t actually recognize any other name but hers and Charlie’s.

And _wait_.

“The fuck?” he muttered, looking through them again, but not finding what he was looking for and _that_ was profoundly alarming, especially since there was nothing at all in the report about anyone else having been there besides him and Boyd.

Stiles went back to the actual report and skimmed through it, including his own clearly abridged version of events and a sick sense of foreboding rushed over him as the implications of his discovery started to coalesce into a truly fucked-up kind of picture.

He was standing there, stunned, and didn’t bother to look over his shoulder as the door burst open behind him.

“What the fuck happened to Gerard Argent?” he demanded evenly, still staring at the screen that should have listed him as among the deceased. Since he was _dead_. Stiles had _killed him_ and then _rifled through his pockets_ because the guy had been a _corpse_.

Derek cleared his throat. “I was going to talk to you about that today,” he said quietly.

Stiles brought his hand up to his face and bit his knuckles to keep from making a noise, knowing that if he tried to talk it would just come out sounding like a wounded animal because he could feel his heart start to race as a surge of panic flooded through him with the overwhelming force of a tempest.

There were careful footsteps behind him, padding across the carpet and then a warm, wet hand on his wrist, pulling his hand away from his mouth while Derek’s other arm slid from his waist up his chest until a hand was gripping his shoulder, firmly pulling Stiles back against him.

“We aren’t certain where he is,” Derek said quietly against the side of Stiles’ head, his stubble brushing against his neck and making him shiver, a combination of the tickling sensation and the sickening fear twisting in his gut.

“ _How the fuck_ do you think I’m safe, then? I _killed him_ , Derek. I fucking magicked his ass into the grave and he’s _alive_ , now?” he asked, incredulous, but didn’t pull away because he was feeling profoundly unbalanced by the whole thing and needed Derek there to anchor him. And yeah, the irony was not lost on Stiles.

Derek held him more firmly. “You have nothing to fear, not when I’m with you, and not while you’re under my mother’s protection. She’s a powerful alpha and she’ll make sure you’re safe.”

He felt safe, there, in Derek’s embrace, but it couldn’t last, he knew that. “You can’t always be with me,” Stiles said, feeling the shaking in his limbs gradually subside, numbing out. He knew the terror would return in full force, though, would probably bring him to his knees in a full blown panic attack when he least expected it, triggered by the smallest thing like after his mom had died and he’d caught a whiff of sage or saw a shaft of sunlight shine on some azaleas. For years it had happened like that, and after what Stiles had gone through over the past fucking week, the past year, he was surprised he was locked up somewhere for his own safety.

“I won’t let you get hurt again,” Derek said, a kind of growl in his voice that made Stiles shudder and want to believe him.

If only he could.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uh, oh. Not all's well in paradise :\  
> Hm...no Raving story today...


	15. Chapter 15

Derek insisted Stiles come with him back to the shower and he didn’t even have it in him to protest, going so far as to let Derek soap him up and rinse him off in a tender and altogether non-sexual display of consideration Stiles knew he shouldn’t have been surprised by, but somehow was. Which probably had more to do with Stiles’ not-so-stellar past experiences than anything Derek had done to disprove his own compassion. He wasn’t always forthcoming with words, but overall he was fairly competent when it came to taking care of Stiles’ physical needs.

One step at a time.

After they’d dressed, Derek apparently unbothered by wearing yesterday’s clothes and Stiles in whatever the other man had picked out for him, which turned out to be his usual layers, they went down the stairs with their fingers entwined and Stiles sat on the counter as Derek whipped up omelettes like a pro.

“This is actually pretty unexpected,” Stiles admitted, watching as he rapidly chop up the green pepper and onions, sauteing them until they were just the right side of tender before he poured the frothy egg and milk mixture into the hot pan.

Derek glanced up at him with a raised eyebrow. “I feel like I should be insulted by your surprise. I _do_ know how to cook, though Isaac enjoys the task and I don’t see any problem in letting him take over most of the time.”

Stiles nodded and idly kicked his heels against the lower cabinet. “I get it, I guess, still pretty impressive, though.”

That made the other man blush a bit and Stiles barely managed not to point that out because he wasn’t out to embarrass Derek, not about his hidden talents, anyway.

“So,” Stiles continued, needing to keep himself distracted from the Gerard Argent revelation cluterfuck for a little while longer, at least until after he’d eaten and centered himself a bit more, “you never told me what kind of music you like.”

Derek’s blush didn’t fade at all, if anything his cheeks got a bit rosier and Stiles’ brows lifted in curiousity. Derek wasn’t really one to ruffle easily, and the fact that he was being weird about the whole thing made Stiles incredibly curious.

“Come on, it can’t be that bad,” he prompted when Derek didn’t seem to be all that keen to share.

“Do you want cheese on yours?” he asked instead.

“Your evasiveness is making me highly suspicious of you and your taste in tunes. If you don’t tell me I’m going to guess, you know that, right? And yes, please.”

Derek sprinkled some of the pre-shredded stuff Stiles had picked up from the store onto the massive omelette and reduced the heat, sliding a piece of aluminum foil over it so the cheese would melt and the egg would cook more thoroughly. He even started to stack the dishes he’d used in the sink, but then Stiles snagged him with his legs, drawing the man closer to him until he could wrap his arms around Derek’s shoulders and look him in the eye.

“Are you seriously this embarrassed by your preference in music?” he asked. It was a little weird to be looking down slightly at the other man, since they were basically the same height when they stood. Derek scowled up at him.

“Not embarrassed, well, maybe, I don’t know.” The level of confliction on his face made it seem like they were talking about something way more serious than what amounted to what kind of playlist Stiles was going to have to throw together so they didn’t want to murder each other on road trips.

“I’m sure I’ll adapt, whatever it is,” he said wryly, trying to show the man that he wasn’t going to be a total ass about whatever it was he liked.

Derek hummed and moved in for a kiss, hands clutching against the shirts over Stiles waist. “Why don’t you tell me what you like while I serve up breakfast?” he asked quietly, uncertainty coming through their bond and Stiles relented with a smiled sigh.

“Seriously don’t know why you’re being so weird about this, but fine,” he said, leaning so Derek could open the cabinet over his shoulder to get two plates and cups. “I like tons of stuff, really, let’s see; violin-heavy classical, political rap, house trance, Taylor Swift, Scandinavian folk metal, anti-folk, grunge, classic rock, I don’t know, tons of stuff. I guess I’ll pretty much listen to anything.”

Derek looked up from where he’d cut the monstrous omelette in half and divided it onto both plates. “That’s quite a range. I’m actually not sure what half of those are, to be honest, well, except for Taylor Swift and _really_?”

Stiles pointed at him as he jumped down. “Hey, no judging, Tswift is an amazing songstress,” he said as he filled a glass with water for Derek, then reached around him for the jug of milk. “Now are you going to tell me or are we going to play the guessing game. Pretty sure your genre of choice wasn't in the list I rambled off, so what is it? Country? Dirty rap? Be honest, now."

Derek rolled his eyes and brought the plates to the table while Stiles took the glasses, silverware tucked kind of awkwardly in the crook of his arm and he didn't miss Derek's eyeroll when he glanced back and saw it.

"Give it here," he said, taking the forks and his water. The plates were set so they sat next to each other, even though it probably would have been more comfortable for them to sit across because the table really wasn't all that wide, but whatever, Derek pretty clearly wanted to keep close and Stiles wasn't about to argue.

"Okay, no more putting it off," he said, turning as much as he could in the limited space to give Derek a stern look.

"What if I said Nickelback?" Derek asked, also not eating, though he did raise a sassy eyebrow. And really, the guy was pretty uncharacteristically expressive. But then again they’d had some amazing sex the night before, or maybe it was in the early hours of the morning.

Whatever.

Stiles considered it for a second, then shrugged. "I'd call bull."

Derek smiled and took a sip of water, probably more for something to do than because he was thirsty.

"Bagpipes? Kpop? _J_ pop?"

"No, I don’t like bagpipes and I don't even know what either of those others are. Fine, I'll tell you, it's not that big of a deal, anyway."

Stiles gave him a look that said it shouldn't have been a big deal but obviously it was.

"I like 60s music, okay?" Derek grumbled.

And _really_?

"Jefferson Airplane?" he asked reflexively, his mom had _loved_ their music, and a lot of other bands from that decade, really.

Derek nodded slowly, like he was kind of stunned by the question and Stiles' lack of teasing about his answer. He’d probably put up with a lot of that from Laura and the rest of them.

Stiles shrugged. "That wasn't so bad, was it?" He wondered if his mom's old vinyls were still somewhere around the house and made a mental more to look when he had a chance. She'd had a pretty nice record player, too.

"I like that kind of music because it's easier to listen to than most of the more contemporary stuff. Werewolves have pretty sensitive ears and a the auto-tune crap makes it feel like mine are bleeding."

He nodded and took a bite of the omelette and moaned. It was fucking delicious because _of course_ it was.

“ _Jesus_ , Derek, are you _kidding_ me?” Stiles asked and relished in the start Derek gave before he plowed on, “I mean seriously? This is fucking delicious. How the fuck? I can’t, you’re impossible. Your _cooking_ is impossible. Ugh.”

Derek tried to contain his smile and covered it by eating some from his own plate, but Stiles could tell he was totally pleased with himself. As well he should be, the omelette was cooked to perfection.

“So, what’s my magical diagnosis?” he asked between bites. It was kind of unfair, really. Derek was exceptionally good looking, clearly from a wealthy family, was strong as a freaking ox, mild-mannered, and had all the enhanced senses of a freaking werewolf. Being an excellent cook on top of that seemed a bit excessive, really. At least his social awkwardness kind of worked to balance things out, at least a little bit.

Derek shrugged and took a sip of water before he answered. “Electricity is your strongest element, which Deaton says is exceptionally rare-”

“I’m an exceptional guy.”

“-and you also have an affinity to the earth,” Derek continued like Stiles hadn’t even interrupted, which was silly because that had been a pretty clever observation, “though it’s more dirt-based than metal-focused.”

“Is that like my mom?” Stiles asked, spearing a stray piece of onion and popping it into his mouth. She’d always been in the garden, hands and wrists covered in dirt.

Derek nodded. “Anya was strong in earth and water, which are complementary elements, Deaton said, though she had some talent with electricity as well.”

Which would explain his dad’s complaint about blown fuses or whatever.

_Huh_.

“So it’s kind of hereditary, do you think?”

Derek shrugged. “I’m not sure, but it appears that way.”

“What about the other elements?” He wasn’t entirely familiar with them outside of random things he’d picked up from movies and video games, though _electricity_ hadn’t ever been one he’d known about. That sounded more like a superhero thing than a magic thing.

“You were unable to manipulate water-”

“Remember that much.”

“-or air. You made a flame flicker, but were a bit out of it by the time we got to that one.”

Stiles thought about it and suddenly frowned, swallowing a mouthful of milk before he talked. “Wait, what about spirit? Isn’t that an option? I mean, isn’t it something like earth, air, fire, water, and spirit? Well, and electricity and metal, apparently.”

Derek shook his head. “No, I don’t know, Deaton didn’t test for that, I don’t think.”

Whatever, it wasn’t like Stiles knew pretty much anything about what was going on so he leaned back in his chair, bumping his knee against Derek’s as the other man finished eating his food and drained his water. He kind of hated to get back to heavier conversation topics, but knew it was necessary.

“How long have you known about Gerard?” Stiles asked because he was never one to leave something alone when he could pick at it. That explained a lot of the tiny scars on his legs and arms, old mosquito bites and scrapes he had just obsessively worried the scabs off of until they’d made little white puckered marks, nearly blending in amongst all of his moles, but still, he really couldn’t leave things alone.

Derek didn’t have anymore food, or water, to distract him, so finally he looked over at Stiles with a guilty expression he knew would be mirrored by Derek’s feelings through the bond if they touched. When Stiles just raised his eyebrows at him, Derek finally relented with a sigh.

“When the police arrived at the warehouse, the werewolves on the force were the first to enter, along with some of their human packmates who were going to remove the mountain ash barriers. They found Gerard, and he looked dead, even sounded like it, apparently, but as soon as they broke the line around him he shifted into some kind of grotesque beast and tore through the side of the building and off into the snow. They tried tracking him, but lost the trail pretty quickly. He was always good at covering his tracks, legally and physically, and now he’s in the wind. We haven’t heard anything more from him since.”

“So he could be waiting outside my window at any time?” Stiles asked, incredulous. He was actually kind of pissed that Derek had kept that from him, especially since they’d had so many discussions about consent and openness and they still had a long way to go, apparently, but that’s what relationships were all about. Communication.

Derek’s brows furrowed, no longer looking intimidating like he once had because Stiles had seen him make quite the same expression as a ginger-haired wolf. “Gerard isn’t going to harm you, Stiles, you have my word.” And dammit if he didn’t sound absolutely sincere, not that it really mattered.

“But you can’t actually make that promise, can you?” Stiles challenged. He knew a lie when he heard it, even if Derek didn’t seem to think he was lying. Stiles had heard the same kind of thing from the doctors when his mom had first gotten sick. _She’ll be okay, don’t worry about her, kid_.

Yeah, Stiles called bullshit.

“I mean, you can’t actually be with me twenty four, seven. And even if you could be,” he forestalled Derek’s attempt to protest with a stern look and a raised hand, “that probably isn’t the safest option, either. Not that I doubt your sincerity or your abilities, it’s just, Jesus, is Gerard an _alpha_?” he asked, the thought suddenly occurred to him in a cold wash of dread. “I mean, he killed Charlie, who was the one that bit him, so what happens, then? Isn’t that how it works?”

Derek kind of looked like his mind was blown, and not in a good way. He opened and closed his mouth a few times before he shook his head. “I don’t, I don’t know, Stiles, but I can find out.” He stood up, kind of dazed, and moved out of the room and probably up the stairs to get his phone and call that one in.

Stiles shook his head and cleared the table. He had just stacked the dishes in the sink when the doorbell rang. He frowned and padded into the living room cautiously, Derek suddenly appearing at the bottom of the stairs and skirting around him to the door, the phone pressed to his ear.

“Hold on,” he told whoever it was on the line before he pressed the phone to his shoulder. “It’s a human,” he said curtly and opened the door as Stiles started to tell him that was kind of a creepy thing to say.

And it was Scott, standing there wide-eyed as he looked at Derek.

“Yo, Scotty,” Stiles said from over the werewolf’s shoulder, poking Derek’s side until he flinched away like he was ticklish, and that was something to explore later, making room for Stiles to slip past him and embrace his friend.

When they broke away Derek was scowling, and huffed his way into the kitchen, putting the phone back up to his ear with a huffed, “Go on.”

“Don’t mind him,” Stiles said dismissively, though it was pretty clear Scott was judging Derek pretty harshly given his expression. “Seriously, dude, he’s just doing the cop thing right now, you know how my dad gets when he’s chasing a lead, it’s the same kind of a thing.”

Thankfully, Scott seemed to buy it, albeit grudgingly, and eventually gave Stiles a kind of wan smile. “Yeah, I guess. Remember that time he was working the gas station robberies and didn’t even realize we’d been eating nothing but those powdered doughnuts and chips all weekend until we were both too sick to our stomachs to go to school the next Monday? That was awesome.”

Stiles snorted. “Yeah, totally awesome when your mom found out and then we were both grounded for being idiots and we couldn’t play videogames for a week.”

Scott’s smile faded a bit. “Oh, yeah, forgot that part, I guess.”

“Whatever, we totally beat like, four bosses that weekend, so it was definitely worth it.”

And his best friend’s joy was back. Stiles loved that about Scott, that he was so willing to show his emotions and that while things got to him, sometimes, he was always a heartbeat away from a smile.

“I missed you, bro,” Stiles said honestly hugging him again and dragging him into the house and kicking the door closed behind them. When he finally pulled back he held Scott at arm’s length. “Not to sound like a dick, but what’s up? Why’d you stop by? Shouldn’t you be working? Hey, what-”

Scott put his hand over Stiles’ mouth to keep him from just plowing on with more questions, as he was known to do and Stiles was fairly certain he heard Derek growl from where he was looming in the doorway to the kitchen. Thankfully, Scott didn’t seem to notice because he didn’t look over there or freak out or anything.

“I just wanted to check up on you, man, I’ve hardly seen you since you’ve been in town.”

“I’ve been here for like, three days, Scott!” he protested, but it was actually pretty true, he’d been focusing so much on the Hales and the werewolf and magic stuff that he really hadn’t made time for his best friend, whom he hadn’t seen in months. And Stiles kind of felt like an asshole for that. “But that’s actually a pretty lame excuse, so yeah, I’m stoked you’re here! Come on, let’s veg. You came here to chill, right? No work?”

Scott grinned and followed him over to the couch where they collapsed, legs kind of tangled as they battled for space on the coffee table. “No work, Deaton gave me the day off, something about needing some quiet? I don’t know, but Allison’s working at her dad’s place, so I figured you’d want company. Well, unless,” he trailed off, looking past Stiles to where Derek was talking in a low tone on the phone, unsubtly keeping an eye on them and glaring at where they touched with a kind of jealousy that made Stiles roll his eyes.

“Not interrupting, I actually have no plans for today, you know, besides checking my e-mail to see if I’m fired or whatever’s going to happen to me now with Youngblood and West.” He was actually pretty sure his job was safe, but there was always a risk.

His friend’s face twisted in a sympathetic grimace. “Ugh, you still don’t know? I mean shouldn’t they have told you by now, especially since it’s not like it was your fault you got kidnapped by the lady in charge of things at Argent Unlimited and oh my god, Stiles, that was _Allison’s aunt_! She told me about it and was _Kate_ the one that beat you up?” he said, like he’d just realized it or was suddenly reminded again and still couldn’t wrap his mind around the whole situation.

“Small world I guess,” Stiles said faintly, glancing back at Derek who had graduated to hovering, phone looking more like a prop than like he was still having an actual conversation on it. “And no, she wasn’t the one that messed up my face.”

“Yeah, but, isn’t she like, Stiles,” Scott said, getting his attention with how serious he suddenly sounded. “Stiles, weren’t you there when she died?” he asked, the playfulness gone from his voice and sitting beside him was his best friend, the same kid who had held him through his panic attacks after his mom had died and shared his bed with him during nights when his dad was too drunk or too sad or too busy to take care of him. It was Scott. Honest, forthright Scott, whom he hated lying to because he deserved to always be told the truth. Because, as far as Stiles could tell, Scott never lied if he could help it. Also, he was kind of terrible at it.

Except.

It really wasn’t Stiles’ truth to tell, so he just nodded with a tight smile, telling as much as he could and wishing it were more. “Yeah, man, saw Charlie die, too.”

And that’s how he found himself wrapped in a fierce hug by his best friend, but the next thing he knew Derek was wedging himself onto the couch beside him, barely fitting between Stiles and the arm, his body a firm line of heat against his side as Stiles returned Scott’s embrace and tried not to laugh because it was so blatantly obvious that Derek was jealous, which was just hysterically funny since it was _Scott_ , Stiles’ _brother_ , that made the guy feel that way.

When they pulled back Scott finally seemed to figure out that there was a new addition and squirmed uncomfortably. “Uh,” he said, clearly at a loss.

“Derek’s been freaking out about the whole thing, too,” Stiles said because really? It kind of served him right for acting like Scott was going to try to do something crazy like cop a feel or whatever it was Derek seemed to think he needed to be there to defend against.

Scott nodded in understanding while Derek scowled.

_Classic_.

“Anyway,” Stiles said, suddenly getting an idea that probably had a fifty percent chance of failing spectacularly, which mean it also had a fifty percent chance of possibly succeeding, so there was that. “I’ve got an idea, why don’t the two of you chat? I’ve been meaning to go sort through the old sewing room and I think it would be good for you both to have a conversation.”

He stood up, or would have, but both of them were holding onto him and he barely managed a flail before he was hauled back to the couch, Derek and Scott glaring at each other like they were offended the other had touched their precious Stiles and _that_ was kind of hilariously offensive.

“Seriously, guys, you two need to talk out this hostility you have going on because I refuse to literally be caught in the middle of your angst right now. So,” he said, untangling their fingers from his hoodie, “you two are going to talk for about half an hour, I’m going to go back there and probably get dust in my eyes, and then we’ll regroup and you’re both going to not be scowling when I get back. Okay?”

Neither seemed to want to agree, but Stiles didn’t give them much of a choice as he extricated himself from the couch and walked backward down the hall. “Half an hour and there better be no bloodshed!” he called, bumping against the wall and turning to face the music that was his mother’s old sewing room where they’d piled up all her stuff after she’d died and then had left it there like a sad kind of museum no one ever visited.

Until then.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Storytime!   
> When I was little my grandpa sometimes used to take me flying in his ancient 1942 luscombe two-seater airplane. Before we started, though, he'd have to "throw the prop," which meant he'd have to get in front of the plane and manually pull the propeller down to get it started (think of it like an old lawn mower where you pull the cord to make it go). So, little me would be sitting in the cockpit looking at my tottering old grandpa as he wobbled over and threw the prop, my tiny hand poised over the throttle just in case grandpa fell into the propeller blade, you know, so I'd be able to stop it from completely chopping him to bits. Yeah...so that was kind of intense. No pressure or anything, right? (Grandpa never fell into the prop, but he did accidentally go off the runway into a corn field and flipped the plane one time when there were no other passengers. He was super embarrassed about it, but was otherwise fine.)
> 
> What kind of a safe word do you think Derek and Stiles have for their sexy times? Can't be a food or cowboy reference...


	16. Chapter 16

Stiles couldn’t even remember the last time he’d set foot inside the room, with its sage-colored walls and the sewing machine still sitting there vacant at the table where he’d watched his mother make the curtains that still hung in the living room, and the bed skirt that hid all the dust bunnies that had colonized under his dad’s bed. It was all so familiar he was momentarily dizzy from it, like he was suddenly in the past and if he squeezed his eyes shut tight and then opened them again she’d be there, doing what she’d loved, a smile on her lips and a song in her voice. But that was nonsense, he knew, the delusional magical thinking of a dumb kid who’d made the same wish for the last fourteen years, and it hadn’t ever come true.

Except for in his dreams.

He swallowed thickly and hesitated at the threshold, nearly chickening out and turning back to play referee between Derek and Scott when then he caught a whiff of herbs, almost too faint to smell, but they were there and he chased the scent, like a wolf, following his senses instead of his rationality.

And it was like stepping into another reality, feeling almost like the dreamscape where he’d last seen his mother and where he and Derek had finally gotten the chance to open up to each other, but it was too still. The air was stale, shut in for many long years, a fine layer of dust covered everything, muting all the colors and giving it a soft, aged look. And Stiles hadn’t been lying about it getting in his eyes because of course that was why he was already starting to tear up.

He wasn’t all that good at lying to himself.

Every step further into the room made the ever-present ache in his heart pulse stronger until he was just one constant, throbbing scar of a child whose mother had been torn from him too soon. He shouldn’t have even gone in there, he knew as the tears flowed down his probably blotchy face, but his feet kept dragging forward on the dull cream carpet, bringing him to the pile of boxes in the nearest corner that his dad had haphazardly thrown in there one dreary Sunday when he’d been drunk and nearly hysterical with sorrow.

Stiles remembered sitting at the top of the steps, weeping silently against his folded arms, listening to his father’s loud sobs and curses as he’d carried the last of his mother’s things in there and closed the door, then collapsed in the hallway and let out violent-sounding cries into the dark emptiness of their broken home. The sheriff, then just a deputy, hadn’t even known Stiles was there, and that was the first time he’d snuck out of his window, not giving him the opportunity to find out that wasn’t actually the case. Somehow he’d made it to Melissa’s house, even though it was several miles away and way past his bedtime, and then he’d climbed up the trellis into Scott’s room, slipping into his bed where he’d woken his friend with his crying and subsequent panic attack.

Melissa had sat his dad down the next day, and then the bottle had gone back into the locked cabinet and they hadn’t really talked about Stiles’ mother since.

At least not until the magic stuff had come up, but the bittersweet shadow of her presence was their constant companion, no matter how long she’d been gone.

Stiles scrubbed the back of a hand over his eyes and sniffed wetly, jumping at the rap of knuckles on the door frame behind him. He turned and wasn’t the least bit surprised to find both Derek and Scott there, the former looking pensively worried, and the latter’s face contorted in an expression of familiar understanding and commiseration.

“Do you want help?” Derek asked quietly, making no move to enter without Stiles’ permission, his body blocking the way just in case Scott tried to go in without it.

Stiles tried to smile, his lip wobbling and he couldn’t even trust his voice so he just nodded in relief. He couldn’t do it alone, he realized, could hardly stand in there by himself, haunted by the memories of his mother’s absence. And if the others were there it would at least make the place feel less like a mausoleum.

Derek came to him instantly, but Scott was less than half a second behind and Stiles suddenly found himself in the middle of a Hale/McCall sandwich and relaxed into it with a stuttering breath of laughter. At least the two could agree on that, on him. It was a good first step to them not seeing each other as complete mortal enemies. Stiles had never been able to stand having the people he cared for not liking, or at least not being able to tolerate each other.

“Haven’t been in here in years,” he choked out when he thought he could finally trust his voice. It only trembled a little bit.

“I know, man,” Scott said as Derek murmured, “No one has,” like he knew that because of course he did. Werewolf, duh.

“It’s not that dusty,” Stiles said cheekily, feeling Derek huff because his face pressed against the other man’s throat, Derek’s warm hand on the back of his neck to keep him there as Scott rested his head between Stiles’ shoulders, arms tight around his waist.

“Sorry I interrupted your bonding time,” he muttered, though he wasn’t really sorry, since they’d probably have a better chance of being somewhat friendly if they were slightly distracted by a task of some sort, like helping Stiles go through his mother’s old stuff and he was suddenly pretty intimidated by the whole situation.

“How can I help?” Derek asked, and Scott was quick to nod against Stiles’ spine, “Yeah, man, I’m, er, we’re here for you. Want us to clean or go through boxes or what?”

He reluctantly pulled free, but not all the way, one of his hands found Derek’s twining their fingers together, while he slung his other arm around Scott’s shoulders. “You guys are the best, seriously. I just, it’s been so long, and I’ve begun to realize that I don’t really know all that much about my mom. I don’t even know her maiden name.”

Derek nodded, “We’ll help.”

And really, that was all he needed, their warm assurance, their presence. The room was no longer as intimidating and the boxes in the corner had taken on a whole new dimension. Stiles pulled away and found himself gravitating toward them, intrigued, while the other two talked quietly about who would dust and who was going to get the vacuum.

 

 

Some hours later, all slightly more sweaty and dusty than when they’d started, Stiles reluctantly agreed that it was time to break for lunch, though he could have easily kept on sorting through the old books and various nicknacks for the rest of the day without stopping. Well, if Derek and Scott hadn’t been there. They made it pretty clear it was time to wash up and eat, especially when Scott had actually sprawled out on the newly cleaned carpet and theatrically clutched his stomach, complaining that he was literally starving. Derek had rolled his eyes at the dramatics, but didn’t let Stiles dither long after that, pressing a palm to the small of his back and physically herding him through the house to the kitchen. So, yeah, they took a break.

Lunch was set to be a bit of a free-for-all, but Stiles had enough ingredients to work with, so he gave Derek the task of chopping peppers while Scott set the table and Stiles turned on the oven and rolled out some premade pizza dough onto cookie sheets.

“I usually make the dough myself,” Stiles told Derek, who glanced up from what he was doing, “and have more veggies to work with, but you know, didn’t really think about it beforehand.”

Derek nodded. “I’m sure this will be fine, Stiles,” he said quietly, masterfully creating a pile of perfectly cubed little pepper pieces.

He idly wondered if Derek could have done something similar if he’d used his claws, but figured that probably wasn’t an appropriate question. Instead he nodded to the knife with his chin. “What would happen if you accidentally cut yourself? Laura showed me her burn-healing abilities. Which, for the record? Ew, but also kind of cool.”

Derek stopped chopping and held the knife like he was contemplating it, then glanced up at Stiles. “Want to see?” he asked casually, bringing the blade closer to his arm like he was just going to fucking go for it.

“What? No!” Stiles angry whispered, glancing at where Scott was still puttering around at the table, probably trying to remember which side of the plate the knife and fork were supposed to go on.

The werewolf looked confused. “I’ll heal, Stiles. Pretty quickly, actually,” he said and made to press the knife against his skin, but Stiles lunged toward him, grabbing his wrist to stop him.

“No! Jesus Christ, Derek!” he said frantically.

“Is it because you don’t like knives, or because you’re squeamish?” Derek asked slowly and Stiles really wanted bury his face in his hands, but didn’t trust the dumb idiot not to follow through with his threat if he let go.

Stiles took a deep breath and tried to calm his too-quick heartbeat and appeal to Derek’s logical side, which was at times lacking. “It’s not just because of either reason, though I am both of those things, too, but I actually don’t want you to cut yourself because _I don’t want you to be hurt_. At all. _Ever_. And especially not by your own hand as some kind of fucked up werewolfy show and tell. Okay? Also, yeah, knives still skeeve me out, so I guess that is a pretty big part of it, and can you please, please not cut yourself?”

Derek seemed a bit taken aback, actually, but when Stiles slowly opened his fingers and took back his hand, the werewolf simply made a noise of contemplation in the back of his throat and finished chopping the peppers.

_Unbelievable_.

“Did you find anything interesting?” Derek asked casually as he took the knife to the sink and cleaned it before drying it and slipping it back in the block with the others.

Stiles shrugged, glad they seemed to be back on non-crazy ground, and that Derek had finally put the damn knife away. “Everything’s pretty interesting, honestly, but I can’t exactly read Russian, so the books remain a mystery.” Which really sucked. Stiles was a bit desperate to figure out what they said, and whether or not they had anything to do with his mother and her history.

“My father might be able to help, or Peter, they have a kind of competition going, seeing who can become fluent in the most languages,” Derek said casually, leaning against the counter and watching Stiles work.

And that was kind of hilariously nerdy of them. Stiles laughed and shook his head as he took the peppers and shredded cheese and pepperoni, covering both pizzas liberally. “I’ll ask your dad tonight, if you don’t think he’ll mind,” he said, slipping them both in the oven, then skirting around Derek to wash his hands.

“Does that mean we’re having dinner at my parent’s house?” Derek asked, sounding like he was trying to hide how excited the prospect made him.

Stiles glanced over at him as he dried his hands, taking in how relaxed and at ease the other man looked. Derek was so beautiful like that. Well, he was actually beautiful in every single situation they’d ever been in, together, but still, he looked good lounging around Stiles’ kitchen with such a casual kind of self-assurance.

“Yeah, if that’s okay with you, I mean,” Stiles said, letting Derek snag his belt loops and reel him in for a kiss. He could feel the other man smile against his lips and his heart lurched from it. He dragged his hands up to Derek’s shoulders as let himself get lost in it.

Until Scott cleared his throat, loudly, behind them, and then promptly started coughing, a hint of a wheeze to it that made his own breath catch for an instant. Stiles immediately darted past Scott to the living room and grabbed his inhaler from where his friend had dropped it onto the table earlier that morning. It was where he always put it, a habit they’d started when he’d first been diagnosed with asthma.

Stiles shook it as he trotted back, and pressed it to Scott’s lips before he could take another almost-breath. “Here ya go,” he said, pushing down the plunger as Scott inhaled. They’d been in the same position a hundred times before, counting together as he exhaled, then Stiles pushed it down again when Scott gave the briefest of nods. He could have done the whole thing himself, but it seemed like neither really wanted that, not when they were together and Stiles could help him out.

Eventually Scott got it under control and took his inhaler back to the living room where he tossed it back onto the table and collapsed onto the couch to just take the time to breathe. Stiles glanced over and Derek was staring at him with a mixture of alarm and awe on his face.

“Asthma,” Stiles said quietly, “he’s had it since he was little, his dad smoked a lot when he was a baby and, yeah,” he trailed off, not really wanting to get into it without Scott’s permission. There was a reason he didn’t ever really talk about that jackass, not since he’d walked out on Melissa a few years before Stiles’ mom had died.

Derek moved closer, glancing over his shoulder at where Scott was sprawled out with his eyes closed. It wasn’t like he absolutely needed the time to recover or whatever, but they’d always had an understanding about that kind of thing, and with Stiles’ panic attacks, too. It was kind of an unspoken rule between the two of them that resting afterward was totally acceptable, all activities ceasing until that person felt up for whatever it was they’d been doing, which was probably videogames, knowing them.

“I could hear it,” Derek said, breath ghosting across Stiles’ neck as he spoke quietly, “I could hear his lungs. Is-” he paused, as if he weren’t sure he should keep going, but eventually he did, anyway, “is Scott going to be okay?”

Stiles twisted to look at him with a sad kind of smile. “Yeah, man, it’s just asthma. He’s okay, just chilling out for a minute. He never complains or anything, but I know that breathing stuff sucks. His is worse, of course, because it can be triggered by cold air or smoke or dust or, shit, even walking too quickly. I have no idea why he insisted we join the lacrosse team in high school, but we did and pretty much spent every single game on the bench because I’m completely uncoordinated and he could barely run the drills without having an attack.”

“You’re not _completely_ uncoordinated,” Derek rumbled, resting his hand on Stiles’ stomach, mouth dipping to press a hot kiss against his neck.

“Hey, now,” Stiles said with a grin, pushing Derek back into the kitchen and out of Scott’s eyeline, just in case he was looking. He backed Derek against the counter. “Don’t start something you can’t finish, mister,” he said, raising his eyebrows in a challenge.

Derek snorted. “Can’t finish? I’m confident I could finish you pretty quickly,” he said, eyes flashing blue and woah, _that_ wasn’t fair.

“Ugh, you’re the worst,” Stiles whined, thumping his head against Derek’s chest and relishing in the other man’s sudden laugh. “And we’re not going to engage in any shenanigans with my best friend in the next room. That’s like, that’s like bro code 101.”

“Bro what?” Derek asked, pulling back and making an adorable confused face, his nose kind of crinkled and Stiles had to fight to resist the urge to smooth out the ridges with his thumb.

“Uh, the bro code. Please don’t tell me you’re unaware of that. What, were you raised by _wolves_ or something?” he asked with a broad grin, just to see Derek roll his eyes with such force it looked like they were in danger of dislodging.

Stiles was laughing when Scott finally came back into the kitchen some time later. His sides hurt from it, really, and Derek was smiling and then Scott was smiling and things were pretty awesome, actually.

  
  


“Your phone, Stiles,” Derek said, nodding up at the ceiling, which probably meant he could hear Stiles’ phone vibrating on his nightstand and _shit_.

Stiles dropped his pizza and hastily wiped his mouth and raced out of the room, ignoring Scott’s confused question as he took the stairs three at a time, nearly wiping out in the hall before he rebounded off a wall and stumbled into his room, picking up his phone and mashing the accept button on the call without even seeing who it was.

“Hello?” he said, only slightly breathless.

There was a beat of silence before the person, a man, cleared his throat. “Uh, yes, is Vya-, er, Mr. Stilinski available?”

Stiles frowned, hardly anyone asked for him by his legal name, not unless it had to do with serious stuff. “Speaking, and, uh, you can call my Stiles,” he said, still not sure what was going on.

“Right, Mr., er, Stiles. I’m calling on behalf of Mr. Lorenzo Youngblood. Is now a convenient time for you to speak with him?”

Stiles sat heavily on the edge of his bed and ran his fingers through his hair. “Uh, yeah, yes. Now is a great time for me to speak to Mr. Youngblood,” he said, skin kind of buzzing with anticipation. He was too nervous to be afraid or hopeful or much of anything, really. It was comforting knowing that his best friend and lover? He still had a hard time classifying his relationship with the werewolf. Anyway, his best friend and whatever the hell Derek was to him were just downstairs, there to support him no matter the outcome. He gripped the back of his neck, though, trying to keep himself grounded as he leaned forward to curl with his chest pressed against his thighs. Just in case.

“One moment, please,” the voice said and Stiles tried to regulate his breathing.

The line went eerily silent as the call was transferred and then there was a booming voice greeting him and Stiles realized he was speaking to the co-founder of the company and kind of felt a bit star-struck for a second, but the guy just kept talking, congratulating Stiles on a job well done and detailing the magnitude of the fraud he’d helped uncover, which was apparently quite a bit more extensive than he’d realized, but Mr. Youngblood couldn’t go into too many specifics due to the ongoing legal situation and all of that hooey. Apparently the Argents had had their fingers in _a lot_ of pies. Which included allegations of human trafficking, well, more likely werewolf trafficking, and that wasn’t something Stiles had taken the time to contemplate, but made a sickening amount of sense, given the story they’d told him about the alpha who had given Charlie _the bite_.

Stiles had only ever seen the guy, and seriously, Lorenzo Youngblood was a pretty awesome name, in online videos from when he’d cut the ribbon on the grand opening of their satellite office building six years previously and from his quarterly speeches to the main auditors and press, but he was seriously entertaining to listen to, completely setting Stiles at ease, and like in his speeches, he was just as charismatic, and long-winded, over the phone, seemingly not even pausing to breathe as he plowed on through the whole Argent business and into how this would affect their own bottom line.

“Of course there’s bound to be some blowback from some of the more shifty clients, which is to be expected,” Mr. Youngblood was saying, “but I can guarantee that if any of them are publically traded their shareholders will demand an audit from us. You’ve put us on the map, kid, bumped us up so we’re on equal footing with the likes of Cunningham, Cunningham, and Jones.” Which was a big fucking deal, Stiles didn’t need to be told. CC&J were pretty much the leaders of the industry. Hell, he’d fantasized about getting a job with them, but knew that was pretty much a pipe dream. He needed at least a decade of experience under his belt for that to happen, and he actually really enjoyed his job, so there was that, too.

“That’s, wow,” Stiles managed, suddenly aware that it was the first thing he’d said to the man since he’d started his rambling explanation. Also, he wasn’t quite sure what the point of their conversation was.

“You sound young, kid,” Mr. Youngblood said, though he was obviously smiling and had been since the start, “but that’s good. People love you young guys poking around their files, especially when they have a track record like yours.”

And that sounded kind of awkward, but whatever.

“Listen here,” he continued, “this Argent business got damn messy, which I don’t have to tell you because you were in the thick of it. So here’s what we’re going to do. We can’t legally have you work for another client until this crap is cleared up, but we’re not letting you go, so don’t worry about that.”

Stiles hadn’t quite had the time to worry, and suddenly hearing that he maybe should have been thinking about the possibility of losing his job made his stomach kind of twist, even though he’d _just been told_ that wasn’t going to happen.

“We’re going to put you on paid leave until this blows over, then you’re going to be chasing numbers for us. We have all kinds of back-log we’re working on, and a kid who’s as good as you at recognizing patterns would be perfect at it.”

“A back-log? So you mean I’ll be working mostly on the computer, then?” Stiles asked, eyes wide as he stared unseeing at the familiar random stuff on his bookshelf.

“Well, yeah,” Mr. Youngblood said.

It was probably his only chance, so Stiles took it. “Sir, I have a proposal to make about my future work with your illustrious company,” he said and yeah, Stiles was grinning as he laid out his plan, a quivering kind of thrill in his blood. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Storytime!  
> Okay, so this one is kind of creepy, you've been warned. (Seriously, this is an actualfax warning, turn back now if you're weak of constitution.)  
> My mom started medical school when I was three, so I spent A LOT of time during my childhood at hospitals sitting at the nurse's stations, just chillaxin with a book and waiting for her to do her rounds on the weekends (then we'd go to the children's hospital and eat McD for breakfast, it was awesome). SO! Yeah, saw/heard many a strange thing as a child, since I was the only one in the family who would actually listen to my mom's gross medical stories when she came home at night. ANYWAY! She once took me down in the tunnels that connected several the hospitals and into a room called the "Temporal Bone Lab," which means the bones in the inner ear. She then proceeded to open a giant industrial grade fridge and pulled out a one of the black garbage bags inside of it that held a round-ish looking thing. Gloves on, she pealed open the bag and inside was an old woman's severed head. The face was frozen in a kind of weird, almost comical expression and then my mom made a tutting noise and said, "Huh, looks like this one's going bad," and turned it around so I could see the spot of mold on the back of it. So, yeah, corpses mold if you leave them in the fridge. Just in case you were wondering. Also, I was probably about ten or eleven at the time, so as a kid I could literally tell people (and I did), that my mom kept dead people's heads in the fridge. Oh, and she offered to let me hold it, but I politely declined.


	17. Chapter 17

Derek was standing at the bottom of the stairs when Stiles came thundering down a little while later and he didn’t even hesitate, skipping the last few steps, and launching himself at the other man who caught him with a startled grunt, arms instantly locking tight around Stiles’ ribs. He laughed, hugging Derek back and grinning over his shoulder at Scott who was standing in the doorway to the kitchen and couldn’t really seem to keep back his own smile, either.

“Guys, guys, guys!” Stiles said, practically vibrating his way out of Derek’s arms. “Guys, seriously, this is the best new! Let go, Derek, this calls for a victory dance!”

“Are you sure it’s safe?” Derek asked sassily, though even he was smirking as he released him, so whatever.

“Oh my god, I’m not fired,” Stiles said, kind of breathless and totally fucking stoked.

Derek just quirked his eyebrows and Scott raised his fists with a cheer because Scott was totally his bro and they seriously needed to catch Derek up on the bro code. Like, seriously.

“And it gets better,” he continued, looking between the two of them with a manic grin. “I’m on paid leave right now until the case is closed, which might actually take some time because of reasons,” yeah, like werewolves, but whatever, not the issue at hand, “and _then_ I’m going to be able to _telecommute_. I just have to go in every few months to hand in my reports _directly to Lorenzo Youngblood_!”

From the look of mild bafflement, neither of them really grasped the magnitude of the awesome that Stiles was laying down. “Oh my god you two are hopeless. It means I can work from _wherever I want_. You know, like my bedroom upstairs, or that coffee shop on Main Street, or lounging on a beach in Tahiti.”

Realization was slowly dawning on first Derek, who just looked a bit stunned, and then Scott, who gave another cheer and tackle-hugged him with a laugh. “Dude,” he said, holding Stiles by the shoulders, “You can totally move back to Beacon Hills!”

“It’s possible,” Stiles said with a smile. He honestly didn’t know what he was going to do, but the fact that he had a choice in the matter made him positively giddy.

“Youngblood,” Derek said, “Isn’t that the name of the company you work for?”

“Good memory,” Stiles replied giving Derek’s insane bicep a squeeze and enjoying the look of embarrassed pride the praise produced. “And yes, Lorenzo Youngblood as in the Youngblood of Youngblood and West. He wants me to report directly to him because I’m, and I quote, _a bright young lad who shouldn’t be shit on by idiots_. How fucking cool is that?”

“Seriously cool,” Scott immediately said.

But Derek actually looked a bit worried, for some reason and Stiles tilted his head in question, but he just shook his head and kind of half-smiled and _whatever_ , Stiles was freaking _stoked_.

“I should call my dad,” he decided, “wait, no, we should finish up that room, and _then_ I should call my dad. I mean, if you guys want to keep helping me, I know it’s not exactly an entertaining act-”

“We’ll help,” Derek interrupted, doing his hand-on-the-back herding thing to move Stiles down the hall.

“Yeah, man, totally,” Scott said, kind of jogging beside them. “Anya used to let me play in there, sometimes, when you were with your dad and my mom was working. She had me sort out different kinds of fresh herbs so she could dry them on your porch.”

And huh, Stiles actually hadn’t known that, or, well, he knew that Scott was at his house sometimes when Stiles wasn’t, but hadn’t ever thought to ask what he and his mom had been up to.

“That’s pretty cool, dude,” Stiles said, moving back to the boxes. Well, box. The others had been emptied, sorted, and put in the hallway. The ones with the books, at least. Stiles had gathered the various nicknacks and set them on the dusted shelves flanking the table where the sewing machine sat.

“What can we do?” Derek asked quietly. He had been pretty quiet since Stiles had launched himself at the man, but didn’t think Derek was up for a feelings conversation with Scott around.

“Uh,” Stiles said, glancing around. There was a basket of scrap fabric and some kind of a dresser he couldn’t remember having ever opened. “Why don’t you guys take this last box and I’ll see what’s up with this,” he gestured loosely to the dresser and they both nodded, moving around him to the box.

It was made of a darker kind of wood, polished to a high shine, and Stiles didn’t think that was just from the dusting Derek and Scott had given it earlier. It was almost like the wood itself glowed faintly, which was silly, Stiles knew. Though he _had_ seen Derek’s eyebrows disappear and claws pop out of his fingertips, so his ability to suspend his disbelief was pretty well intact. If the dresser wanted to glow then, whatever, that was it’s prerogative.

The top drawer, of the three, slid open easily, revealing bushels of dried herbs tied with scraps of fabric like the ones in the pile, as if his mom had just grabbed the first thing that had come into hand when she was putting them away. That was where the smell had come from, Stiles realized, the one that had made him enter the room in the first place. He made a noise of interest, but there didn't seem to be anything else in there, and he knew he could look up what each bundle was composed of later, so he closed it and moved to the next, which stuck a bit, but eventually gave.

It was packed with random objects; candles and what looked like a miniature cauldron and a bundle of sage and a jar of some dark substance and an ornamental-looking knife with a white handle and Stiles flinched back, heart suddenly racing.

"Jesus," he whispered, Derek's familiar warmth instantly at his side, holding onto his arm and pushing Stiles half behind him as he peered down at the drawer for himself.

"Casting tools," he said dismissively, like that was an actual thing that he wasn't surprised to have found amongst Stiles' dead mother's things.

"Excuse me?" he asked as Scott moved to his other side to look.

"Oh, yeah, one time she had me clean that pot with salt and oil to keep it from rusting," he said casually, pointing at it.

And he was _surrounded_ by assholes.

"You guys knew this shit was here and didn't think to tell me?" Stiles asked, hurt and indignation boiling up inside of him as he stared down at exactly the same kind of stuff Cassandra had used to _almost murder him_.

Derek turned, brows furrowed in concern and he slipped his hand down to touch Stiles’ wrist, silently conveying how sorry he felt, which was fine, but the guy still needed to _use his words_. Stiles didn’t call him out on it, though because Derek really did feel pretty shitty.

Scott kind of shrugged. “Sorry, man, I guess I forgot about it, but what do you mean, _casting tools_?” he asked Derek, looking utterly confused.

Still uncomfortable, but clearly knowing he was not in Stiles’ good graces, yet, he looked over at Scott. “Anya dabbled in magic,” he said casually.

Fucking _seriously_.

“Seriously, Derek? You’re just going to lay it out there like that?” Stiles asked as Scott kind of sputtered and gave them both weird looks, like he wasn’t sure if they were being serious or not, but also wasn’t sure if he should ask.

Derek just gave a hopeless little shrug, clearly not knowing what to say, either.

“Whatever, go deal with that box,” Stiles said, freeing his wrist from Derek’s grip and waving them both away. “I can’t even with you two, sometimes.”

They retreated quickly enough, talking in low voices. Well, _arguing_ in low voices, but Stiles wasn’t listening as he closed the second drawer and crouched down to open the third. It was stuck, like the wood had kind of warped together along the edges, and it wouldn’t budge as he yanked on the ornate metal rings on the outside of it.

“Come on,” he breathed, annoyed, yet completely confident that he was going to open the damn thing and suddenly it gave, just enough for him to wiggle it open and he frowned because it was nearly empty, save for a handful of incredibly familiar envelopes.

Stiles’ hands were shaking as he twisted his wrist to put his hand through the narrow opening. The paper was soft when his fingers brushed against it and he had a moment of penetrating sorrow because he knew exactly what they were with a stark kind of clarity. They were his mother’s goodbyes.

Derek was there, again, but this time he squatted down behind Stiles bracketing his legs and reaching an arm around to hold onto his waist, pulling him so Derek’s chest was a hot, solid line he could sink into if he needed it.

“They’re letters,” Derek said quietly, and Stiles nodded mutely.

He pulled them out all at once, the bright yellow wax on the backs moulded with his mother’s seal, a blooming rain lily. Turning them, his breath caught when he saw the name on the first one. _Derek Hale_ , it read in his mother’s jagged script.

“It’s for you,” he said unnecessarily, twisting his head to catch Derek’s stunned expression.

Stiles turned back and read the next one, _Alan Deaton_ , and the next, _Talia Hale_ , then _Scott McCall_ , _Laura Hale_ , _John Stilinski_ , and _Vyacheslav Stilinski_.

The letters were shaking so badly Derek moved his free hand up to help steady him.

“Dude, did your mom write all of us letters?” Scott asked with a hushed kind of awe from beside them.

Stiles nodded mutely. He remembered the letter he’d gotten during the whole bisexual crisis thing, but it hadn’t even dawned on him that there might be more.

“Come on,” Derek said, hand tightening on Stiles’ waist, “I think that’s enough for today, don’t you think, Scott?”

Scott agreed, though he didn’t exactly sound too happy about it, but that was probably just because it was Derek who had made the suggestion.

Without waiting for Stiles to un-melt his brain, Derek stood up, hauling him along like it was nothing, which, _werewolf_ , so it probably wasn’t terribly difficult. He even took the letters, passing them to Scott as he pulled Stiles along with him out of the room and down the hall to the living room, where they all collapsed onto the couch.

“Dude, I’m going to open mine. Wait, is it okay if I open mine?” Scott said eagerly, though kind of unsure judging by his conflicted expression.

Stiles finally blinked stupidly and nodded. “Uh, yeah, it’s for you, right? Go ahead, man. You, too, Derek, I mean if you want.”

The whole situation was making his stomach knot and he needed to do something or he was pretty sure he’d end up throwing up from the unexpected stress of it all. With an awkward shove on Derek’s thigh he managed to lever himself upright and move to the kitchen without tripping or stumbling or anything, which was pretty spectacularly graceful of him given the circumstances.

“Just,” he said, palms facing Derek as the other man started to stand, “just give me a minute, okay? I just, I’m going to-” he trailed off and left the room, finding it hard to ignore Derek’s concerned look, but he really needed some space.

Once beyond the doorway into the kitchen, out of sight from Derek, Stiles immediately collapsed against the counter, forehead resting on his arms as he sucked in deep, shuddering breaths. There was a letter for him _from his mother_ , a letter that had been in the drawer of a dresser loaded with magical casting items and herbs. It had been just sitting there with other letters for _years_ , addressed to some of the most important people in Stiles’ life, and he hadn’t even known who Derek and Laura and Talia were before he’d moved to Chicago and there were just _too many freaking coincidences_ in his life for them to _be_ mere coincidence.

Not for the first time, he wondered about his mother’s abilities and whether or not she’d somehow orchestrated the whole thing from the grave. She’d certainly come to Stiles in his dreams, ensuring he and Derek actually talked out their problems and his head was starting to throb with a tension headache. But his real question was, if she’d had the power to do that all along, then why had she left him and his dad so bereft for so many years?

He scrubbed the angry tears from his cheeks and looked for something to do to distract himself, but Scott and Derek had cleaned up all the dishes and even wiped the table clean, so he just kind of puttered around for another minute or two before he squared his shoulders and forced himself to walk back in the living room, only to find both Derek and Scott sitting there unselfconsciously with wet cheeks and glistening eyes as they studied their letters and that was something he hadn’t been prepared for at all.

Stiles stopped and kind of waffled for a second about what to do, but then without looking up, Derek patted the couch cushion between him and Scott in a silent kind of invitation and Stiles did his best not to trip over himself as he moved across the room to take his seat.

Derek’s hot palm immediately came to rest on his thigh, but his eyes were still scanning the letter with rapt interest. When Stiles glanced over at Scott he was likewise entranced, mouth kind of hanging open as he read.

Finally, Scott lowered his hand and dropped his head back to rest against the couch. “Dude,” he whispered, “your mom really was magical, wasn’t she?” He turned to look at Stiles and it took a lot of willpower not to tear the letter from his friend’s hands and read it himself.

“Yeah, Scott,” he said instead, voice sounding kind of rough.

Derek squeezed his thigh, drawing his attention and when Stiles looked he had a bittersweet kind of smile on his face, brows wrinkled a bit sadly. “Anya, she knew a lot, and,” he broke off with a pained little sigh before continuing, “and I’m glad I finally found you,” he said, but that didn’t seem to be how he’d wanted to end that sentence, but whatever.

“Me, too,” Stiles said, setting his hand on top of where Derek’s was still resting on his thigh. “Both of you,” he added, “I’m glad we’re all here, that you guys have finally been properly introduced and that you don’t hate each other,” because they couldn’t, Stiles knew himself well enough to know he had a kind of neurotic need for the two of them to get along with each other, at least when he was around. They could do whatever they wanted behind his back, but his anxiety was bad enough without them bringing out their animosity when he was around.

“Hey, no worries, man,” Scott said easily, slipping his letter back into the envelope and reaching under the table to where they kept the basket of controllers. “Who’s up for a little competition?” he asked, and Stiles laughed.

  
  


It turned out that Derek was not very good at video games. Like, at all.

“Dude, cheer up,” Stiles said, nudging the other man’s thigh with his after his mushroom icon flailed it’s way off the edge of the road for the fourth time that race. “At least you made the turn that time.” His own little mini-dragon dude was lagging a few seconds behind Scott’s princess, but it managed to squeak by her around the next turn and finished first.

“Yes,” he hissed, enjoying how Scott cursed under his breath. The guy wasn’t big on profanity unless gaming was involved, and then he was worse than Stiles, which was saying something.

“I fail to see how this is an enjoyable pastime,” Derek muttered.

Stiles snorted. “Hey, remember when I thought you were a robot? Uh huh? It’s because you say shit like that, dude, but yeah, I get it, we’re kind of being dicks. We’ve played this like, ten thousand times, so you’re at a bit of a disadvantage. What kind of game system did you have growing up?” he asked as Scott scrolled through the different track options, probably looking for one of his favorites, which always involved lots of narrow roads and high places to fall off of. And yeah, they were kind of being dickish about the whole thing, but that was also who they were when they played.

Derek shifted beside him and Stiles looked over, kind of intrigued by his obvious show of discomfort, or maybe embarrassment? He didn’t put his hand on Derek’s skin to check, though, and just let him take his time getting it out there.

“We uh, we never had any game consoles growing up,” he finally admitted. “Mom liked for us to express our competitive spirit outside.”

Stiles frowned. “Uh, didn’t you mostly grow up in Wisconsin, though? Like, snowy, bitterly cold Wisconsin? The same awful place we just left, like three or four days ago?”

Derek shrugged. “We made it work.”

And seriously? Well, Stiles supposed werewolves did run a bit hotter than humans, judging by his own personal observations, and Talia had apparently banished Derek outside in his wolf form while there was more than a foot of snow on the ground, so she must not have been that concerned with him dying of exposure or anything, but still.

“That’s kind of messed up, just for the record,” Stiles felt inclined to say as the countdown on the screen began again. “Though my dad used to handcuff me to stuff and time how long it took me to get out of them, so I guess that’s probably just as weird.”

“My mom made me practice triage first aid on Stiles,” Scott piped up as their icons all took off on the track, Derek’s almost immediately ramming into a wall. “She’d squirt red paint on his arms or whatever and make me patch him up like he was actually injured. The first few times I’m pretty sure I almost pissed myself because I wasn’t a hundred percent convinced he wasn’t actually hurt.”

“I’m a screamer,” Stiles agreed and grinned through his blush when he heard Derek make a choking noise beside him. “And dude, you totally pissed yourself that first time. I know because I had to run upstairs and get you a clean pair of pants and underwear, which was difficult because you tied the bandages so tight I could hardly flex my fingers.”

“Is that why you wanted to be a vet?” Derek asked, which was probably the first actual question that wasn’t rhetorical or douchey that he’d asked Scott all day, so that was awesome.

Beside him, Scott shrugged. “I don’t know, maybe? I’ve always liked helping people and animals feel better when they’re sick or hurt, but after spending so much time at the hospital growing up, because of my mom,” and Stiles’ he didn’t say, but they all heard it, “I didn’t really think I could handle being there all the time, so when Deaton hired me as an assistant during high school it was like I’d found my calling, you know?”

Derek nodded, his cartoon mushroom actually staying on the track for a quarter of a lap before it plunged off the side and had to be rescued by a little dude on a cloud. “I get that,” he finally replied as Stiles shot a missile at Scott’s icon and sent her spinning out of his way and into another car.

Stiles smiled broadly as he won another round.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Storytime!  
> Words of wisdom from my mother.   
> In order to get dead people's heads so she could store them in the fridge (Jesus Christ, how is that even part of a sentence I'm writing right now?), my mom would first have to separate the head from the cadaver, which is apparently PRETTY FUCKING TRICKY because it flops around and there's no hair or anything to hang onto because they shave the heads of the bodies that are donated to the medical school before they dunk them in the giant formaldehyde (and whatever else) tanks to "cure" before the med students have at 'um. So, yeah, floppy headed dead people were a problem for her.


	18. Chapter 18

Scott left on a win, which was how he liked to go out and Stiles didn’t argue about it as he thumped his best friend’s back when they hugged goodbye.

“Say hi to Alli for me,” he said, and promised to cook dinner for the two of them later that week when they were free.

Derek and Scott kind of nodded to each other from across the room, which was downright civil after some of the things the werewolf had been muttering during their last race when Scott had lapped him, twice, going so far as to blow him up the second time with a maniacal laugh. Yeah, Scott wasn’t always a team player, but then again neither was Stiles, so, whatever.

He shut and locked the door behind his friend and wandered back over to the couch, where he plopped down sideways across Derek’s thighs instead of beside him.

Judging by the shiver-inducing rumble that came from the man’s chest, Derek didn’t seem to mind at all as one hand came up to hold onto Stiles’ thigh and the other ran soothing lines up and down his back over his layers. but he wasn’t touching skin and Stiles knew something was wrong even without the contact.

“Okay Mr. Broody, what’s up?” Stiles asked. He could have just let it go, talked about something else like what the hell had been in his letter or any of a hundred other questions Stiles had accumulated about Derek and his family and werewolves and magic, but he was more concerned with the wrinkled v between the other man’s eyebrows and his largely monosyllabic contributions to his and Scott’s conversations during most of the afternoon.

He also deliberately didn’t touch Derek’s skin because he wanted the guy to tell him what was clearly bothering him instead of Stiles guessing based on the evidence at hand. His mind was already churning with a few theories, but he forced himself to just look in Derek’s eyes and kind of maybe silently encourage him to get with the program and talk about it willingly. It was probably wishful thinking, but that kind of thing seemed to work in Stiles’ favor, sometimes.

“Why do you think I’m upset?” Derek asked cautiously and Stiles struggled not to roll his eyes.

“Gee, Derek, I don’t know, maybe because your eyebrows are so drawn together they’re in danger of merging. Also, you look like you swallowed a lemon and I know it’s not just from having to hang out with Scott for most of the day and lose video games to us for the last hour. And,” Stiles said, a bit more quietly, “I know it wasn’t just my mom’s letter. You were upset about something before that.”

Derek glanced away and it kind of felt like Stiles’ heart stuttered for a second there before the werewolf looked back at him decisively. “I’m worried about you,” he said.

“You’re always worried about me,” Stiles retorted, then clicked his teeth shut because flippancy probably wasn’t the best way to approach the situation.

The other man rolled his eyes. “It’s more than normal worry, Stiles, it’s,” he trailed off and sighed heavily. “I don’t want you to feel pressured,” he finally said, though that didn’t sound like it was all he wanted to say.

One step at a time

“Pressured?” Stiles asked, kind of feeling like they were playing a game. Like charades or twenty questions or something.

Derek nodded.

It was not helpful.

"Is this about sex? Because I thought we’d covered most of the bases on that, but if you want to talk-"

"It's not about sex," Derek said decisively, though his cheeks were kind of pink and Stiles struggled to keep his cooing internal. _Jesus_ , it seemed kind of wrong for the guy to have that kind of affect on him but whatever, he was fucking cute, sometimes.

"Okay," he said slowly, when it became clear Derek needed him to keep leading the conversation. "Then I'm not sure what else to ask you about, dude. I mean, this isn't a mates thing, is it?" And wow, that hasn't occurred to him until that moment, actually, the possibility that Derek didn't seem to have a choice in matters, either. As far as Stiles could tell it wasn't like they'd consciously chosen each other as their magical buddies, but had just seemed to have ended up that way. And Derek seemed pretty genuinely upset.

"Derek, you know I actually like you, right? Like as a person."

Derek shook his head, hand tightening on Stiles thigh. "That's not, that's not the issue," he said and when Stiles raised his eyebrows Derek grunted and continued, "What I mean is, I'm glad. That you like me, it's just-"

"Wait, do you not like _me_?" Stiles asked, incredulity and a dense ball of dread coiling sickeningly in his stomach even though logically he knew that probably wasn't the case but he'd certainly been wrong before in relationships.

"What? No! Stiles of course I like you," Derek said hastily, his hand returning to running soothing lines up and down Stiles' back. "Don't be ridiculous."

Stiles frowned, but felt marginally better. "You're the one who's being kind of being a bit ridiculous right now," he felt inclined to point out.

Derek huffed out a sharp breath. "You're right, it's. Okay, I don't want you to feel pressured by my family," he said quietly, gaze kind of fixed on Stiles' chest, either unable or unwilling to meet his eyes. "They're, they know you're a spark, obviously, but that doesn't mean we, that you have to live with them or anything and I don't want you to think that's the case, no matter what they say."

Stiles blinked at him, opened and closed his mouth, then frowned. "Uh, I think we missed a few intervening steps here, dude," he said faintly. "Who says I'm planning to move in with your parents?"

The other man looked at him sharply. "I'm saying you don't have to," he said defensively and Stiles raised his hands.

"Hey, I read ya loud and clear, but I'm still waiting for some actual explanation, here."

Derek nodded slowly and Stiles finally let his hands fall to the hand clutching his thigh, running his fingers over the soft skin hiding powerful muscles. He could feel Derek's determination, his lingering not-quite-fear. It was more like wariness, really, along with his steady affection that undercut it all and made Stiles want to smile, but he didn't because they were having a serious discussion.

"My family," Derek started, then swallowed and looked up at Stiles through his thick dark eyelashes and that wasn't fair, how unbelievably attractive he managed to be without even trying. "My mother," he amended quietly, like she'd hear, "is a strong alpha, but having you, a spark, in her pack will make her even more powerful."

Stiles was reminded of what Mr. Youngblood had said about the company suddenly rising in the ranks in the auditing world, and he was still kind of stunned because _Stiles_ had done that, and was apparently doing it again.

Not knowing what to say, Stiles nodded for Derek to continue.

“She’ll want to keep you close, which is part of the reason she’s moved everyone here, to Beacon Hills, plus it’s our established land and there shouldn’t be anyone insane enough to challenge her for it or for you.”

Stiles shook his head. “But I’m just here temporarily, to get away from Chicago and the mess in Wisconsin. Talia knows that, right? I mean, I literally _just_ found out that I actually have a choice in where I can live. It’s not like I’ve even made a decision or anything.”

Derek nodded, quickly and a bit dismissively. “I know, I, it’s just that tonight they’re probably going to ask you about it, about joining the pack formally, though in spirit you’re already one of us, since I’m your anchor.”

“ _Formally?_ ” Stiles asked, his mind full of Charlie’s gnashing teeth and the bondage gear in the lake house’s panic room and he could feel his pulse jump because _he didn’t want to be a werewolf_ , not that he had a problem with them, clearly, but he wasn’t ambitious like Charlie and he didn’t have a chronic illness like Erica, and he wasn’t abandoned or abused and his breath was coming a bit too quickly.

“Stiles,” Derek said, hands coming up to hold his face and he put his own hands on Derek’s forearms to brace himself. “Whatever it is you’re thinking, I’m pretty sure you’re wrong. It’s more of a ceremony than anything else, and, uh, you’re going to have to be naked for it,” he said with a wince.

“Na-naked?” Stiles asked, and if he couldn’t feel Derek’s calm assurance, he would have certainly called bullshit. But no, apparently he was being entirely sincere. “Naked,” he said again, flatly. “You want me to go galavanting around, I’m assuming outside? Outside, in the woods in the December while wearing nothing but my birthday suit.”

Derek nodded. “I’ll be with you, as a wolf. Only pack members who can fully shift are invited to participate in the ceremony. It’s uh, it’s generally less awkward that way.”

Stiles made a noise halfway between startled and amused, then collapsed against Derek’s chest, tucking his head against the other man’s neck, his hands clutching the sides of Derek’s shirt. “Are you fucking kidding me?” he muttered against warm skin. “You mean your mom and dad and sister, fuck, and Erica will be there watching me prance around _naked_? Ugh, and your creepy ass uncle, too? Derek Hale, you’re _the worst_.”

Derek wrapped him in a tight hug and kind of rocked him a bit. “I didn’t tell you this to upset you, Stiles, and you don’t, you don’t have to say yes.” He kind of choked on that last part, though and Stiles could feel a flash of agony tear through Derek and immediately whined against his throat.

“Dude, _fuck that_ , we’re stuck with each other, remember? Don’t be dumb, if you’re part of your mother’s pack then so am I,” he said, body tense until Derek’s despair started to fade and then they both relaxed against each other. “But you’re going to have to go into some serious detail about what’s happening tonight,” he muttered, wiggling a bit to get more comfortable. Derek’s lap wasn’t exactly soft to sit on, but Stiles was really okay with not moving until he had to.

Beneath him Derek took a deep breath and exhaled hot air across the back of his neck. “Okay, so the tradition started back in the old country,” he began, and Stiles closed his eyes to listen.

  
  


“That was,” Stiles started to say, then he just huffed out a laugh. “That’s going to be memorable,” he said as diplomatically as he could. Thinking about it, well, obsessing about it, wasn’t going to do him much good, so he just sighed and pulled back to see Derek’s expression, which was tentatively hopeful, and that was actually a pretty comforting sign. “So, uh,” he said, really needing to change the subject before he could dwell, “I wasn’t really coherent for most of the magical portion of yesterday evening, but don’t I have to, I don’t know, practice? Or something?”

Derek raised his eyebrows, clearly amused. “You want to spend the afternoon _performing magic_ before dinner and the ceremony tonight?” he asked. His tone implied that was a pretty stupid thing to do, but Stiles forged on casually.

“What I want to do is play around with some magic, and then suck you off before we go to your parent’s house for what will undoubtedly be an extremely awkward evening. What do you say?”

Derek’s eyes flashed blue before he squeezed them shut tight and put a hand to his face, it was the hand that had gone back to resting on Stiles’ thigh and he didn’t appreciate the loss of contact.

“You’re _mouth_ , Stiles,” he muttered and Stiles grinned, wiggling a bit on Derek’s lap.

“Yeah, dude, that’s kind of the point. I want to put my mouth on-”

He heard his dad’s keys in the door and instinctively flailed off of Derek, landing face first on the couch next to him, his knees kind of slamming onto the floor and he grunted from the impact.

The sheriff found them like that when he came inside, Stiles slowly extricating himself from where he’d fallen with a minimal amount of help because Derek was silently belly-laughing at him.

“You’re such an asshole,” Stiles hissed, but the mirth coming from their bond where Derek was half-heartedly holding onto his arm was actually working to improve his mood and he couldn’t help but smile and roll his eyes as he finally managed to get situated on the couch beside Derek, glancing up at his dad in time to see him shake his head with the long-suffering air of a father used to his son’s graceless shenanigans.

“Oh, hey,” Stiles said, “uh, Derek and I are going to the Hale’s place for dinner. Talia and Rollin are back,” he did jazz-hands, but his dad just narrowed his eyes.

“Back in town?” he asked slowly, eyes flicking to Derek, then back to Stiles. “Explain,” he said flatly.

“Um,” Stiles said slowly, “Talia and Rollin Hale just moved back to Beacon Hills? With Laura and Erica and Peter? That’s why I aired out the Hale house, the other day, remember-”

“I remember,” his dad said shortly, then pointed at him. “You are coming with me and we’re going to discuss this in private. Derek, we’ll be back in a few minutes. I’d tell you to make yourself comfortable, but it looks like you already have.”

Actually, it looked kind of like Derek was going to make a run for it, so Stiles patted his knee. “Dude, chill out, it’s not like he’s going to take me outside and lock me in his trunk or anything. And just so you know, I could totally get away if he did that.”

Yeah, Stiles needed to work on his reassurance skills because Derek kind of made a weird noise in the back of his throat and then just nodded to the sheriff.

_Great_.

Stiles heaved himself up and followed his dad down the hall, both of them stopping as they reached the door to his mom’s sewing room, the boxes of books piled up outside of it.

“Oh, uh, Derek said his dad and uncle might be able to help translate them, or they can at least see if any of them are important enough to keep,” he said quietly.

His dad just nodded silently and ushered Stiles into his office and shut _and locked_ the door behind them.

“Is that really-” he started to say, but cut off when he saw his dad’s expression.

“Stiles,” he said with a grave kind of seriousness, “I understand that you and Derek are,” he paused for a second, “boyfriends?”

He shrugged, they hadn’t exactly had the _labels_ discussion about their relationship, well besides the whole mate/anchor thing, and _forced husbands_ sounded pretty bad.

That didn’t earn him a very pleased look, but his dad blazed on. “He’s your anchor, I know that much, but I don’t want you getting any more involved with that family while we’re still dealing with the aftermath of the Argent Unlimited business.”

“I know Gerard’s body wasn’t found,” he said quietly, not even enjoying the look of shock on his dad’s face. “Derek told me, and I think that’s why he’s been staying so close to me. Well, that and Deaton tested my magic last night and it pretty much wiped me out.”

His dad folded his arms across his chest. “And?” he asked.

_And?_

“You want to know about my magic?” he asked slowly, pretty sure he was missing something, but then his dad just nodded like he didn’t appreciate Stiles playing dumb. “Okay, but Derek can tell us more about it, I don’t actually remember much, which is fine,” he added hastily when his dad got a murderous look in his eyes, “it’s fine, Deaton said that was normal, and clearly I’m okay. I was actually thinking of practicing, but it might be a bit dangerous to be around me when I try it, except for my anchor, who will apparently be okay.”

“Apparently?”

Stiles rubbed the back of his neck with one hand. “Hey, I’m not the expert, Dad, I’m just telling you what I’ve heard. And, are you seriously telling me to stay away from the Hales, I mean they’re practically,” _your in-laws_ , he barely managed to stop himself from saying, then kind of coughed and finished with, “practically my only friends.” And that was actually pretty pathetically true, as they both knew.

His dad narrowed his eyes like he was trying to figure out what angle Stiles was playing.

“I’m serious, Dad, they’re cool. I enjoy hanging out with Laura and Erica and yes, with Derek. Oh, hey, Scott stopped by today, that was cool. He and Derek helped me clean out,” he gestured to the door, not quite able to continue, but then he remembered the letter and had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from immediately bursting into tears.

In front of Derek and Scott he’d somehow managed to keep a bit of decorum, but this was _his dad_ and they both missed Stiles’ mom so much it was like a fathomless hole in their life that hadn’t ever, couldn’t ever, be filled.

“Mom left us letters,” he said, voice already thick and his dad’s expression instantly shifted to one of a wounded kind of tenderness. “To Derek and Scott, too,” he added, not bothering to do more than blink at the sudden tears in his eyes, “and Deaton, Talia, and Laura. She,” Stiles had to pause to take a shaky breath, “she wrote letters to all of us and I couldn’t even open mine,” he admitted with a sense of humiliation, even though he knew he shouldn’t feel that way, that it wasn’t logical, but he did and then his dad was hugging him hard.

“You will when you’re ready,” his dad said gruffly, voice thick with emotion, “she’d have been so proud of you.”

Stiles made a kind of laugh-sob that sounded a bit strangled and he just buried his head against his dad’s shoulder and held on. “She’d have wanted you to be happy, too, you know,” he said quietly and felt his dad shake with a silent laugh.

“Still concerned about you hanging around the Hales,” the sheriff finally said as they parted, both ignoring the wet streaks on each other’s cheeks.

“Yeah, well, you know where they live, right? And it’s not like Derek’s done anything to put me in danger. Hell, he tried to get me _out_ of Chicago to keep me from Kate, it’s not like he knew I was being tracked and that she’d be crazy enough to kidnap me.”

His dad nodded reluctantly. “Their timing is just a bit suspicious, don’t look at me like that, you were the one who mentioned how Rebecca and Eli were murdered around the time the family up and left.”

Stiles winced, aware that Derek was just down the hall and could probably hear their entire conversation. “Yeah, well, they’re here, now, and as long as Chris doesn’t start going nuts I think we’ll all be okay. Just,” he paused, not knowing what to say, but needing to say something, “if you see Gerard Argent can you do me a favor and either don’t approach him, or shoot him in the head until he stops twitching?” It was a lot to ask from his dad, he knew, probably too much, but he didn’t allow his expression to waiver as he stared into the man’s light blue eyes.

Eventually, the sheriff nodded, “I’ll take that under advisement, son.”

“Thanks, Dad,” he said and went in for another hug.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Having a rather unexpectedly eventual evening :\
> 
> So, no story tonight, kittens, but I want to know what kind of silly/insane/awkward ritual you think the Hales should do with naked-Stiles (keeping in mind the pairing, ya pervs ^_^)


	19. Chapter 19

Stiles’ dad sent him back out a while later while he settled back in his chair to go through some files he didn’t let Stiles see, batting his hand away when he tried to look, anyway. That was pretty standard for them, but Stiles couldn’t help but glance at him suspiciously before remembering the other cases his dad was working on, just mundane, everyday things, but they actually required the sheriff’s full attention, so he beat a hasty, and slightly guilty retreat.

When he got to the living room Derek looked like he was practically beside himself with worry and as soon as Stiles was visible he leapt over the back of the couch and seized him in a tight hug.

“I’m okay, dude,” Stiles whispered, but his arms were wrapped around Derek like he wasn’t ever going to let go, either and yeah, Stiles definitely needed that kind of comfort.

“I could _smell_ your sorrow,” Derek said quietly against his ear and Stiles shivered from it.

“Comes with the territory, I’m afraid,” he replied, then pressed his face against Derek’s neck because he was done talking and just wanted to be near the other man and feel his familiar warmth and smell his earthy scent.

Stiles came out of it when he felt Derek start to shuffle them in a direction, toward the stairs, apparently. “Come on,” Derek whispered, “We’re going up to your room and we’re resting before supper. Erica knows we’re coming and Mother expects us in two hours. We should take the time to relax now since we’re going to be up until at least dawn.”

And yeah, Derek had explained that when he’d told Stiles about the ritual, but it still seemed kind of surreal and impossible, all the things they were going to do.

Stiles didn’t argue with him about the whole taking a nap thing, though he did look over his shoulder guiltily at the letters still spread out on the coffee table.

But it wasn’t the time for that, he knew. He wasn’t ready to read his and whatever it said wouldn’t help him until he’d reached a point when he could take it all in at once. He breathed out and let himself be led, the two of them navigating the stairs somewhat awkwardly because neither seemed willing to let go of the other and then they were in Stiles’ room and his back was pressed against the door as his shirts were being pulled over his head.

“I’m sorry,” Derek murmured against the line of his throat, “I just need to feel your skin.”

Stiles let himself be stripped and touched and tugged at the hem of Derek’s shirt in a silent request, which was hastily granted and then they were chest to bare chest, pressed close, the wood of the door cool against Stiles’ back.

“It’s fine,” Stiles finally said, “we talked about this, remember? When we’re alone it’s not as big a deal for me, and shit, Derek, I’m going to be _naked_ tonight, surrounded by your _family_.” He thunked his head against Derek’s collarbone and frowned at the other man’s amused huff of breath. “It’s not funny,” he grumbled and then Derek’s hands were caressing his back in apology.

“The ritual isn’t a sex thing,” Derek insisted again, like he had when they’d first talked about it and Stiles had been struggling not to absolutely freak out. “It’s about familiarity and trust and bonding as a pack.”

Stiles nibbled on the skin of Derek’s neck, just to feel him shudder. “Is that why it’s only wolves who are invited to attend?” he asked, then licked the red marks, though of course they faded almost instantly.

Derek nodded, the barest movement of his head. “Yes,” he said, then sucked in a breath as Stiles slid cool hands down his firm abs to undo the buckle of his belt.

“Wolves?” Stiles asked, enjoying the little twitches and hitched breaths Derek gave as he slowly worked on unthreading the stiff leather from the loops.

“Uh, yes, only those of us who are able to shift into our wolf form are allowed to participate in the ritual because,” he stuttered to a stop when Stiles dropped the belt onto the floor and circled his thumb around the button of Derek’s jeans.

“Because?” he prompted, undoing it and starting on the zipper, taking it down one tooth at a time.

Derek cleared his throat. “Because it’s easier for our alpha to keep us in line that way, and so we can show the new member, you, that we’re a capable pack.”  

“Well I already know that,” Stiles said as the zipper stopped. He moved his hands to Derek’s waist, then to his hips and slipped his fingers under the fabric of his jeans, easing them down. “I’m just concerned about how cold it’s going to be outside,” he said as he rested his forehead against Derek’s chest to watch as the pants fell to the floor.

Warm hands slid up his spine to cradle the back of his neck. “That’s why we have to prove to you we’re capable. You’re going to have to trust us to take care of you.”

Stiles put his hands on the muscular curves of Derek’s hips and smoothed the skin there with his thumbs, watching the flex and play of the man’s muscles, so dense compared to his own lithe frame, although yoga had certainly added some definition he’d been lacking. “I trust you,” he admitted quietly and closed his eyes as he felt the the scratchy graze of Derek’s scruff against the side of his head, then the man’s lips on his temple.

“And tonight I’ll prove to you that I’ve earned that trust.”

He let Derek help him out of his own pants, then lead them both to the too-small bed where they squeezed together, Stiles half on top of him.

“I, uh, I listened to that song you told me about,” Derek confessed quietly into the stillness of Stiles’ room.

He shifted to glance at the werewolf and bit back a smile when he realized Derek was blushing. “Oh, really?” he asked, not quite recalling what song they were talking about, but if it garnered that reaction he figured it must be pretty good.

Derek just nodded, staring up at the ceiling, and _that_ wouldn’t do.

Stiles thought about it for another minute and then suddenly remembered the epically hot half-shifted sex they’d had and what he’d told Derek before they’d started and oh. He barked a laugh. “Oh, god, that song! Well, I hope you enjoyed it. Did you? Oh, come on, you can’t get all shy now. How about if I sing it to you?”

The other man made a kind of choking noise and that pretty much settled it. Stiles rolled on top of him, grinning at the overly dramatic oomph Derek let out, then shifted so he was straddling him, both hands pressing against the hot skin of Derek’s bare chest.

And actually, as Stiles mentally replayed the song, the lyrics were pretty intense, but so was the mate slash anchor relationship thing they had going on, so whatever.

“I’m going to skip a few lines because they’re weird, but,” Stiles said as he slid his hands up Derek’s chest to his neck and finally his strong jaw line, “I think you’ll really enjoy the chorus,” he punctuated that with a nip to Derek’s chin and the man’s hands came up to grip his thighs almost too tightly, which was pretty much perfect.

“Like that?” Stiles whispered against the scruff on the underside of his jaw and Derek shuddered beneath him. “So, fair warning, I’m no Trent Reznor, that’s the guy who sings it,” he whispered conspiratorially, “but I think the really important part is the song’s message, don’t you?” he ground down on Derek, their boxer briefs really not doing much to hide their mutually growing interest.

“Hm, you can have my isolation,” Stiles murmured, nipping along Derek’s insanely muscled shoulder, “you can have the hate that it brings,” he bit along the other shoulder and was pretty sure he was going to have bruises on his thighs from the grip Derek had on him, but he actually didn’t mind at all.

Stiles moved down, breath ghosting across the man’s chest, “You can have my absence of faith, you can have my everything,” Stiles licked across his nipples and Derek arched under him, incidentally bringing their erections together in a burst of white-starred pleasure. “Not yet, darling,” Stiles chastised with another nip and Derek growled, impatient and so turned on Stiles’ own cock was leaking against his waistband just from the feeling of the other man’s lust.

“Help me, you tear down my reason,” he continued, crawling down Derek’s body and mouthing along his taut abs, relishing in the shudders the action produced. “Help me, it’s your sex I can smell.” He grinned wickedly up at the other man as he rested the flat of his tongue along the hard ridge of his erection and licked up to where he could taste Derek’s precome through the strained edge of the fabric.

Derek was clenching and unclenching his fists in the sheets on either side of his hips, close enough to Stiles’ head that if he’d wanted to, he could have just seized Stiles’ hair and made him deliver on his earlier expression of erotic interest. But he was Derek, who had always treated Stiles with respect when they were intimate, so he didn’t do that, though the strain was starting to show.

“Help me, you make me perfect,” Stiles whispered, biting gently on Derek’s hip, “help me become someone else,” he bit the other hip, then lowered his mouth and gripped the edge of Derek’s briefs between his teeth and pulled down.

There was an explosion of breath, and then Derek was lifting his hips, shaking hands helping Stiles take off that last article of clothing and then he was being pulled up and Derek was kissing him like he was starving for it.

“I remember this part,” Derek whispered against his lips.

Stiles smiled, but kept up his quiet singing anyway, as Derek peppered his neck with more kisses. “I wanna fuck you like an animal,” he said, grinning as Derek’s claws popped out and shredded Stiles boxers so he could slot their dicks together and giving a delicious, friction-full trust. Derek moaned beneath him.

“I wanna feel you from the inside,” Stiles insisted, sliding his hand into Derek’s hair so he could angle the man’s head just right for them to kiss as he thrust again.

Derek was panting as Stiles continued. “I wanna fuck you like an animal,” Stiles repeated and licked his palm, then wrapped it around their cocks and twisted his wrist in a way that made Derek’s beautiful eyes roll back in his head as he arched under Stiles in a taut curve of tense flesh and grasping hands.

And he didn’t think he’d ever get used to that, seeing Derek come undone. Knowing that his hands and mouth and voice had had such a profound affect on the stoic, strong man, his anchor and mate.

Stiles ducked his head down until his mouth was against Derek’s neck. “My whole existence is flawed,” he murmured, setting his teeth on the skin and feeling Derek freeze under him as his dick pulsed in Stiles’ hand, shooting hot come between them.

_You get me closer to god_ , he thought as he bit down hard, his own orgasm tearing through him with the force of a lightning bolt.

He was spent, he realized some indeterminate amount of time later when he came to. He was spent and sticky with drying come, and he’d marked his mate the wolfish way.

Beneath him Derek hummed happily, so full of contentment Stiles couldn’t even dredge up any other feeling for himself.

“Through every forest, above the trees,” Derek said quietly, and Stiles turned his head, one ear against Derek’s chest as he listened to what the man was saying, “Within my stomach, scraped off my knees.” Derek brought a hand up to press against the back of Stiles’ neck in a comforting kind of assurance. “I drink the honey inside your hive,” he rumbled, “you are the reason I stay alive.”

Stiles grinned, feeling himself blushing. “That’s the end of the song,” he said and Derek hummed beneath him again, chest sounding like it was full of bees.

“You liked that?” Stiles asked, though the answer was pretty obvious.

Derek breathed a laugh. “Yeah, Stiles, I liked that, it was incredible. And you,” he hesitated, his free hand coming up past Stiles face to rest against his own neck with a kind of happy whine. “You marked me,” he said with awe.

He tilted his head to get a look and yeah, Stiles was really blushing then because from that angle he could see there was an almost perfect half-circle of his teeth branded into Derek’s skin in bright red. “I wasn’t sure I could actually do it, but you said you wanted me to when we talked about it before and,” he trailed off and buried his head back against Derek’s skin, embarrassed and kind of shocked with himself and-

“I’m glad you did it,” Derek said. “You marking me will change things a bit tonight,” his arms tightened when Stiles started to move nervously. “In a good way,” he continued lightly. “Now no one should challenge me when I insist on staying close to you, which I will,” Derek brought both hands to rest on the small of Stiles’ back. “Rest now, I’ll wake you when it’s time to leave.”

Stiles nuzzled against Derek’s skin, feeling his body completely relax against him, and then remembered the slightly itchy substance sandwiched between their stomachs. “Uh, shouldn’t we shower? I mean my dad’s probably going to guess what’s going on, whether or not we go in there together or separately,” he said, then trailed off when he realized he hadn’t even really thought of the possibility of shower sex until just then and yes, that was something that needed to happen.

But Derek was shaking his head with a quiet rumble. “No, it’ll be better if you smell like me,” he said, like that was even something that was on the table.

“Smell like.” _Holy shit._ “Derek, I’m not running around the woods naked, in front of your family who can turn into wolves, with our dried come on my stomach. That’s.” _That was crazy._ “That’s crazy, and kind of creepy. Isn’t it creepy? It sounds pretty creepy.”

He wasn’t actually sure anymore because his creep-o-meter had gotten all out of whack after he’d met Kate, and then Gerard, and then Peter. He was pretty certain his scale for things like appropriate behavior was also skewed because apparently he hung out with werewolves in his spare time and they thought it was normal to stink of sex while performing a naked pack initiation ritual.

_His_ fucking _life_.

Derek’s hands were back to running soothing lines up and down his spine, chest still rumbling beneath Stiles’ cheek like he was purring and the ever-present sense of contentment and affection just flowed from him. “It’s fine, Stiles, you smell like you’re mine and you’ve marked me. Together, that shows the pack that we’re mates, and will make the night go more smoothly. But,” he paused his reluctance evident in his voice and emotions, “if you don’t want to smell like me you can shower,” he said quietly, and Stiles knew he was being completely, if grudgingly sincere.

It _was_ entirely his choice how he presented himself that night for the ritual; whether or not he wanted to make that kind of declaration, well, _the other half_ of the declaration since he’d already marked Derek, and that wasn’t entirely fair he realized. Derek had been unbelievably accommodating since Stiles had made his opinions about things known, but Stiles hadn’t done much more than what he’d wanted during that time and suddenly his affection for the werewolf bloomed a bit brighter and he tucked his hands under Derek’s sides as he pressed his cheek against his chest.

It was his turn to accommodate, to compromise.

“I want you to mark me the way _you_ want to mark me,” Stiles said, holding back a smile as Derek froze beneath him. “I mean it,” he added before Derek could ask him if he was sure. “If you don’t want me to shower I won’t. This ritual is about both of us, isn’t it? So we’ll do this together.”

Finally, Derek nodded mutely, and then after a dizzying second of movement Stiles’ back was pressed against the bed and the werewolf was above him, grinning gorgeously, his dark hair rumbled and the mark a livid red against the tanned skin at the junction of his neck and shoulder.

“You’re comfortable with me marking you.” Derek said. It wasn’t a question, probably because he could hear if Stiles had lied, which he hadn’t. Despite some of the rockier moments earlier in their relationship, which really encompassed the entirety the previous few weeks, and really that was how long they’d actually known each other. Stiles almost shook his head at the thought because it was kind of insane that they hadn’t been acquainted for very long at all, and despite that Stiles had learned to trust that Derek was looking out for him. Of course at times his version of looking out for Stiles greatly differed from how he saw things going, but that was where their growing communication skills came into play.

“I’m comfortable if you’re comfortable,” Stiles said, and tilted his head back with a soft smile.

Derek’s eyes flashed blue and he gave a large, wolfish grin.

  
  


“This seems like a bad idea,” Stiles said as they climbed into the sleek black car. He didn’t miss Derek rolling his eyes as they buckled their seatbelts.

“It’s going to be fine, Stiles,” he said, not for the first time.

It was really not as soothing as Derek probably thought.

Stiles snorted and settle back in the seat a bit awkwardly because he was wearing Derek’s shirt instead of his own, the fabric bunching strangely around his wrists. It was part of the whole marking thing. Well, scent marking, the actual mark Derek had left was a faint throbbing bruise that ached just a bit when he moved his neck too suddenly. Theoretically he could hide it under the collar of a hoodie or probably even one of his plaid shirts, but Derek seemed to like staring at it, so Stiles hadn’t argued when the other man had wordlessly handed him the henley he’d worn for the second day in a row and had taken one of Stiles’ too-small polo shirts from his drawer.

“I’m not even worried about the ritual thing anymore,” he admitted. No, he kind of felt so beyond worry it was almost like he’d reached a point of zen about that whole thing. Dinner on the other hand, now that was a point of anxiety he had yet to overcome.

Derek’s hand moved from the shifter onto Stiles’ knee. “I told you, I don’t want you to feel pressured by them to choose where you’ll be living.”

“Yeah, that’s great since my dad doesn’t even know, and shit, I forgot to tell him about the job thing. I was so worried about the, goddammit I forgot the letters for, oh,” he trailed off as Derek took his hand off the wheel for a second to tap his leather jacket. “Oh, so you got their letters. That’s good, thanks, man.”

“I figured you had other things on your mind,” Derek said knowingly, like he was aware of how neurotic Stiles could be, and he couldn’t help but give a self-deprecating smile.

“Yeah, you got me, but hey, that’s a good conversation diversion, right? Or no, is that weird? The whole bringing up my dead mom’s secret stash of letters that have been hidden in a dresser full of magic paraphernalia for fourteen years? Yeah, that’s kind of weird,” he decided with a sigh. Stiles was not good at socializing in groups when he was the center of attention. He was actually incredibly terribly awkward at it and the whole evening was going to be nightmarish. He’d be lucky if he got out of it without having a full-blown, puke-on-the-table panic attacks like he’d had during his freshman year of high school at lunch right before his public speaking class. That had been memorable, and humiliating on a whole new level he hadn’t, at that point in time, experienced. The sensation was no longer a unique one, unfortunately.

Derek’s hand squeezed his knee, then shifted to the next gear and returned, his thumb rubbing little circles against the fabric of Stiles’ jeans. “I’m going to be with you the whole night,” he said, and that was mostly true Stiles knew, except for one part of the ritual he wasn’t thinking about at all or else he was sure to kill his zen buzz in what was bound to be a flooding tide of anxiety. “My family may be intense at times, but they already like you and if they didn’t we wouldn’t be having this conversation. Only people my mother has thoroughly vetted are invited to join our pack, and of those, you’re the only spark.” Derek glanced over at him with a smile and Stiles was sure his heart couldn’t take that amount of adorable candor.

“Yeah, yeah,” he said, unable to keep back his own answering grin, “I’m a special snowflake, and shit, is it going to snow tonight?” Stiles leaned forward to look out the windshield and frowned up at the cloudy sky. “It kind of looks like it might snow and that would royally suck, dude.”

Derek shrugged. “Guess you’ll have to keep moving, then,” he said like that was a viable option during the night’s shenanigans.

Stiles narrowed his eyes. “Yeah, in the pitch black since it looks like the moon’s going to be covered with snow-filled clouds. That’ll go swimmingly for the human who can’t see in the dark.”

That seemed to momentarily stump the werewolf. He even opened and closed his mouth like he had a rebuttal, but then thought better of it and Stiles really wished he could cock one eyebrow like pretty much everyone else in his life somehow managed to do. It was the perfect opportunity for that level of sassiness.

Finally, Derek sighed and moved his hand back so he could shift down a few gears as he made the turn that lead to the Hale’s land. “I guess I’ll have to stay close to you, then,” he said quietly, and Stiles realized that Talia could probably hear them already, even though they were still nearly a mile from the house.

He swallowed and moved his own hand to rest on Derek’s thigh, feeling the werewolf’s glowing heat even through the thick fabric. Stiles knew he had to just get through it, he had to endure whatever was going to happen and then he’d come out the other end with Derek by his side and a whole new family to add to his own. The thought buoyed him enough that he managed to summon a tight smile.

“Okay, let’s do this.”

Derek glanced over at him and nodded with a soft smile of his own. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Storytime!  
> So, yeah, yesterday I walked in the door from a long day of work and immediately saw Odin the cat playing with a piece of tissue or paper or something on the floor, and then I realized it was spotted with blood. Roommate (who is also my cousin) burst out of the bedroom as I was asking if she'd cut herself, pretty incredulous since she cooked dinner every night and had only nicked herself a few times over the past two years, but she instantly confirmed that she had indeed cut herself badly enough that she needed to go to urgent care right that second (RED ALERT RED ALERT!) and then speed walked to the door. I flew into action, grabbed my keys and then drove her there, both of us stonily silent because she was bleeding and I didn't want to be an asshole and make her talk about it, but then we walked in and she asked if I'd checked to make sure she'd turned off the stove (NOPE) so I hopped back in the car and raced home to check. The stove was off, thankfully, and the cats were super confused about the whole thing. Roommate then text me saying it was going to be a while and that I could watch TW without her (*snorts* no way, dude). Instead I finished writing/editing yesterday's chapter and posted it, then I fretted, and then I picked her up and bought us fast food for dinner since she'd had quite enough adventure for one day and we went home and ate and then she went to sleep. Yep, that was my super exciting evening. Roommate has two stitches in the webbing of her left hand between her middle and ring fingers and I get to clean blood off the bathroom wall. But she's fine now, so everything's good.
> 
> As for this chapter, I definitely have at least six versions of 'Closer' in my iTunes because I’m that much of a pervert/NIN fan...somewhere on tumblr (not on my blog unfortunately) there’s also a nsfw photoset of Sterek paired with some of these lyrics paired and UMF YES


	20. Chapter 20

Stiles wasn’t really sure how he’d imagined the whole dinner at the Hales thing going down, well, besides awkwardly, but for some reason he hadn’t anticipated the fanfare starting before they’d even managed to park.

The whole family was standing outside of the huge house, Talia and Rollin together on the porch at the top of the steps, Erica with her arms and legs wrapped around Laura, who was running toward the car, while Peter stood off to one side with his arms crossed over his deeply-cut v-neck shirt, a sassy look on his face. Stiles opened his mouth to comment to Derek about how weird his family was, then abruptly realized they were all werewolves, so they’d be able to hear anything he said. His teeth clicked shut and he looked kind of hopelessly at the other man, whose easygoing attitude had vanished in favor of his normal social stoicism.

_Right_.

Stiles heaved a breath and unbuckled once the car came to a stop, reaching for the door handle with a dark sense of inevitability, but then Derek was leaning across, grasping his wrist to stop him.

“Wait,” Derek whispered, and tilted his head so he was kissing Stiles, hard and quick, a claiming kiss.

And it was _definitely_ for show.

Stiles barely had time to react before it was over and Derek was sitting upright again, glaring a bit arrogantly out the window at something, nope, he was glaring at someone; his uncle Peter and Stiles suddenly got the impression he was set to be used for more than one round of make the other asshole jealous.

_Fan-fucking-tastic._

“That was incredibly mature of you,” Stiles felt inclined to point out because he was a bit of an asshole, too, and was kind of allergic to being manipulated as part of a weird power game between family members, or between anyone, really. He decided that if Derek and Peter wanted to have some kind of werewolf pissing contest they could do it without his involvement.

Derek seemed to get the drift, too because he kind of blushed and went to open his door, but it was jerked open, as was Stiles’ and he found himself being hauled out into the brisk winter air by Erica, who immediately wrapped him in an _Erica Classic_ so tight his ribs creaked in protest.

"Hey," Stiles grunted out as she actually picked him up and shook him back and forth a bit like he was a doll instead of a grown ass man who was actually a bit taller than her, though he knew she was far stronger than he could ever hope to be with his puny human body.

"Hey nerd," she said with a wide grin, sharp white teeth accentuated by her red lips. When she set him down she didn't let go, seizing his, well Derek's shirt just under his armpit and dragging him to the stairs.

That stopped short and Erica beamed up at Talia and Rollin like he was a dead rabbit she'd just hunted down and was super excited to show her alpha.

And really? Stiles needed to stop thinking things. Just, all the things. It wasn’t helping keep his anxiety levels at a minimum.

"Erica," Talia said, her voice even richer in person, "is that any way to treat our guest?" And he'd known about that part, about being considered a guest before he was made an official pack member, so he didn't freak out about it. Nope, there were going to be plenty of other things to freak out about later.

Erica actually looked kind of crestfallen and took a measured step away from him just as Derek managed to extricate himself from Laura's clutches and appear at Stiles' side.

"He's not just a guest, Mother," Derek said quietly, then used two fingers to shift the collar of his leather jacket and the shirt he'd borrowed from Stiles to reveal the red circle of the bite mark on his neck.

It looked like both Talia and Rollin were trying to keep from smiling, she had greater success than he did. Stiles had only seen Derek’s father once, and that over the computer, but he seemed to have a good sense of humor and was obviously well-loved by the younger members of the pack.

And Derek showing them the mark was a declaration, especially when he then dropped his hand and laced his fingers with Stiles’ in a move that made Peter snort from where he’d circled around Erica. Stiles was suddenly very aware of the visible matching bite on his own skin, but he just held his head up high and looked straight at the alpha, like Derek had told him.

“Alpha Hale,” he said, mouth a bit dry, but he didn’t stop to swallow, “my name is Vyacheslav Stilinski. I would like to petition for the opportunity to join your pack.”

Rollin chuckled beside his mate and nudge her when she didn’t immediately respond besides quirking one dark eyebrow. “How formal, eh my love? Come on, girls, Peter, we don’t want dinner to burn,” he said, and with a wink at Stiles he disappeared into the house followed by a smirking Peter, then Laura, and Erica, who also seemed pretty amused by the whole thing.

Talia waited until the rest of them had gone inside before she glanced down at their joined hands, then to both of their necks, and finally from Derek’s face to Stiles’, her expression unreadable. “You go by Stiles, though, don’t you?” She asked, already knowing the answer, but he nodded anyway.

“Yes, Alpha Hale,” he said, not quite knowing how formal he was supposed to-

“Talia.”

Stiles nodded, relieved but still kind of on-edge. “Yes, Alpha Talia,” he said because he was nothing if not persistent, and admittedly kind of annoying. Her lips twitched in an almost-smile.

He could feel Derek’s nervous energy and hope and anticipation from where they were touching and that wasn’t really helping keep Stiles calm, but he wasn’t about to let go of the other man’s hand.

“Cheeky,” she said, but didn’t look upset about that. Which was good because Stiles might have been doing the whole incredibly bizarre petition ritual thing, but he wasn’t about to change who he was to join them.

“May we enter, Mother?” Derek asked, moving a bit closer to him when Stiles started to shiver from the cold. And yeah, the ritual was going to royally suck if he couldn’t even handle being outside fully clothed for five minutes, though Derek had insisted he not wear layers to the Hale house and actually it was kind of a dick move for the werewolf, creator of excess body heat, not to offer Stiles his jacket. Not that Stiles was a delicate flower by any means, but still. Dick move on Derek’s part.

Talia nodded her permission and the two of them walked up the stairs and followed her into the house.

  
  


It was a lot cozier from when Stiles had ventured inside the first time. The entire place had more of a lived-in feel despite having been vacant for more than two decades and only occupied for a few short days. He was almost inclined to believe it was some kind of werewolfy magic working, but knew it probably had more to do with the vivacious energy Laura and Erica always seemed to bring to the table than anything inherently supernatural. Add to that Talia’s commanding presence along with her mate’s and that was recipe enough for Stiles to feel an instant wash of coziness.

“Love what you’ve done with the place,” he said with sincerity. It was comforting, the feeling of life the Hales imbued into their home.

Derek squeezed his hand and led them to the couch, familiar enough territory, and nearly dragged him to sit on the cushion next to him, their legs pressed together from hip to ankle.

Talia ignored their cuddling and moved further into the house, toward the kitchen.

And they were suddenly, unexpectedly, alone.

“So-” Stiles began to say, but Derek’s lips silenced him in a sweet kiss. It was an apology for his earlier advance, the one meant to get under Peter’s skin and Stiles accepted it and the meaning behind it with equal tenderness. As long as Derek didn’t try the same kind of thing again.

After taking a long moment to reconnect, Derek languidly pulled back and opened his eyes. “You were saying?” he asked quietly, probably more because that seemed to be the appropriate tone of voice given the fire-lit setting and not because he was trying to be secretive. Because yeah, werewolf-filled house and suddenly Stiles discovered a whole new reason he wasn’t interested in living amongst the Hales in their wolfy fortress. No privacy.

Not that Stiles had anything to hide per se, but he did enjoy the simple pleasure in life, like talking to himself about inane things without being overheard, listening to J-pop when he was doing the laundry, and masturbating furiously to whatever porn caught his interest. Yeah, he wasn’t really cut out for living in a group home full of people who could constantly keep tabs on what he was doing with their freaky super-senses.

“Stiles,” Derek prompted and worry flooded into him from where the other man had seized his hand in an almost too-tight grip.

“What? Oh, just got distracted by things. You know. And stuff.”

_Super awesome cover_ , he thought with an internal wince.

Derek’s expression echoed his internal sentiment of concern. He opened his mouth probably to draw out whatever Stiles had been thinking when Talia breezed back into the room, her dress ruffled by the motion and kind of floating around her knees for a second before it settled. Stiles was suddenly reminded of his own mother’s love of _keeping her legs free_ , as she called the sensation of wearing dresses and skirts. When he’d first expressed his interest in seeing what if felt like she’d been so happy he remembered thinking it was like the sun was shining inside the sewing room. It was a room without a window, he abruptly realized and the event took on a whole new meaning.

_Magic_.

“Why don’t you come with me, Stiles,” Talia said mildly, the same way she said most things, though there was a hint of wry amusement in her request.

Stiles glanced at Derek, who wasn’t giving anything away in his expression, but through where their hands touched Stiles could feel his wariness. Him having a one-on-one with the alpha hadn’t been a part of the plan, apparently.

_Awesome_.

“Yeah, sure,” he said, not knowing what else to do as he extricated himself from the couch and Derek’s grasp, then followed her down the hall to where he knew office was. Well, an office he’d assumed was hers. And really? It was Derek’s _mom_ , though she was the alpha of the pack, it wasn’t like she was going to kidnap him or assault him or _oh_.

She could _turn_ him.

“I don’t want the bite,” he said as soon as she’d closed the soundproofed door. He figured he’d get it out there before she could offer and then hopefully he could steer the conversation in a direction that wasn’t completely invasive or terrible. Stiles wasn’t actually sure what they were hoping to accomplish, isolated and alone together where no one could hear his screams. Although apparently Derek could hear his heartbeat always, so he’d hopefully come running if anything happened. Not that Stiles was expecting the guy’s mother to maul him or anything, but-

“I didn’t offer,” Talia said with a definite smirk as she crossed the room, gesturing for him to have a seat in one of the velvet-covered chairs facing her imposing desk. “Though it might help you with those panic attacks you have, sometimes. My son told me how worried he was about you when he discovered you were thus afflicted, and the fact that they can sometimes be fatal has him quite concerned for your welfare.”

Stiles frowned. “I’ve dealt with those for years, and it’s not just a physiological thing, it’s actually psychological, so I’m not sure how becoming a werewolf would help with that. Besides, my life’s been a bit messed up, recently, and I don’t necessarily think my panic attacks are a significant enough problem to warrant me changing my entire biological make-up on the off-chance that will somehow help prevent them. Hey,” he said, as a new thought occurred to him, “would me being a werewolf make me not a spark, anymore? Are those two things mutually exclusive?” He thought they might be, he wasn’t entirely sure why, but it just seemed like there were two different kinds of magic at play.

Talia gave him a slow smile as she paced around the room. Well, walked. Or maybe she was just the type that liked to think on her feet. That certainly made sense given his previous observations about the kinesthetic nature of his werewolf friends and Derek. She didn’t answer his question immediately, moving to touch a few of the books he’d wanted to read, but hadn’t had the opportunity to delve into. With her in Beacon Hills, though, he wasn’t sure if it would be easier for him to ask to borrow them or simply lay out his questions to her directly. Not that she seemed to keen to give him any answers.

“Derek outlined the events of the ritual, did he not?” she asked as she moved around Stiles to settle back against the edge of the desk.

He nodded, not really seeing where she was going with her line of questioning, but then he had a sudden thought. “Wait, Derek or maybe Laura or, I don’t know, someone, mentioned that the other people at the warehouse, the ones that helped, they were members of your pack.”

“Indeed,” Talia replied.

“But only you and your mate and Peter’s family lived at your house in Wisconsin, right? Derek and Laura and the others lived in Chicago.”

She inclined her head, but her smirk was growing like she knew where the conversation was going but was willing to let him stumble through his own thought process to get there.

“So, what? Were the others already werewolves and decided to join your pack or did you recruit them somehow or how does that work now that you live here?”

He was a bit undereducated about the whole werewolf pack dynamics thing and wanted to learn as much as he could straight from the source. If she’d tell him. It was incredibly valuable information to have since he was on the cusp of joining her pack and wanted to keep his inevitable mishaps to a minimum. Or as much of a minimum as he could given who he inherently was; kind of a constant hot mess, really.

“The only wolves I’ve bitten are my sons Boyd and Isaac, and my daughter Erica,” Talia said, looking pleased, though he wasn’t sure if it was because he’d asked a good question or because she liked being reminded of the children she’d adopted into her pack. “As for the others, they all sought me out when we moved to the area. There was no truly established pack in the territory at the time and many families of wolves came to me and asked if I would offer them protection. We’re stronger in numbers and I accepted their pledges. They maintained their individual households as my betas and I accepted the role as their alpha.”

“As long as they performed the ritual, right?” Stiles asked, realizing that Derek must have known so much about it because he’d seen it happen many times before.

“Indeed,” she said. “You’re a quick one, Stiles, I can see why Derek is so smitten.”

Stiles sputtered. He wouldn’t exactly have called Derek _smitten_.

_Except_.

Yeah, that kind of described the looks the other man had given him during his more tender moments, like when he had taken care of Stiles during his post-lightning exhaustion and after they’d had sex, and woah, that wasn’t the time to think about that particular situation, not when he was in the same room with the guy’s mother who was in possession of crazy-heightened senses. Definitely not the time.

“He told you of the ritual they participated in,” Talia said evenly, “but he doesn’t know that it isn’t the only initiation ceremony that grants a potential new member acceptance into a pack.”

Stiles made what was probably an unflattering confused face. “What? I don’t, I don’t understand.”

Talia smiled, slow and genuine. “Stiles Vyacheslav Stilinski, it would honor me and mine if you would accept my formal offer of our hospitality and protection in exchange for your loyalty and the willingness to share your rare talents with us should the situation call for the use of your spark. Thus say I, Talia Hale, alpha of the Beacon Hills Hale pack.”

His breath caught. That sounded a lot like the words he’d been expecting her to say at the end of the ceremony, after he’d run around for the entire night wearing a crown of mistletoe and nothing else, trying to keep up with the wolves as they raced around the vast perimeter of the Hale’s land, in an attempt to prove he was worthy of joining their pack. But that, what she’d said, it sounded a lot like his invitation, the one he’d thought he’d have had to earn.

“I don’t,” he started, then swallowed, “I don’t understand what’s happening. This is part of a different ritual?” One he clearly didn’t know the rules to and wasn’t at all prepared to go through, not that he’d been especially keen to stumble through the shadows of the forest during what was probably the first snowfall of the year, but at least he’d known what to expect from that series of events.

Talia nodded. “You’re a spark, Stiles, a powerful one at that. Your anchor is my son and he’s already recognized you as his mate. It would be easier for everyone if we just performed the mating ceremony, instead, but the moon isn’t right and I don’t believe you’d appreciate rushing into things without knowing more about what that entails first, am I correct?” And dammit if she didn’t look so completely at ease, amused by the situation and not at all worried that Stiles was practically vibrating in his chair from the unanswered questions she kept skirting around.

“Is this some kind of joke?” he finally said, too loudly and sounding about as frantic as he felt. He didn’t like the abrupt change in plans, if it was a change in plans. He wouldn’t put it past her to lull him into a kind of false sense of ease before dumping his ass in the woods and making him run, anyway. Stiles could feel his chest start to tighten already and frowned at her when she looked a bit uncertain. It was the first time he’d seen that expression on her face and it just served to put him even more on edge. It certainly wasn’t helping him breathe any easier.

“Stiles,” she said sternly, in what he assumed was an alpha tone, though she kept her red eyes to herself. “I want you to calm down and listen to me.” She reached out her hand and placed it gently on his shoulder over the fabric of Derek’s shirt. He stuttered a bit, but he was finally able to draw in a full breath. “I’m formally inviting you to be a member of my pack. No ceremony, no nudity, no running. This is between you and me, and then between us and our mates, and finally between the four of us and the pack.”

“But why?” he asked. It was hard to believe Derek had been so completely off base with the whole initiation thing, especially since Derek had clearly seen the ritual before. The earlier part of their conversation suddenly came to him and he gaped for a second before answering his own question. “It’s because I’m a spark. The rules are different if the person being asked to join the pack is a spark. It really is true that you need me, then, isn’t it?” Just like Peter had implied when he’d creeped on Stiles’ porch. Because apparently he was someone to be _revered_.

Talia’s smile was back, more genuine and with less of a smirk. “We tried to court your mother, once. Well, my mother did back when she was the alpha, but Anya politely refused, saying she was too in love with her husband the deputy to risk endangering him by becoming involved in werewolf affairs. That didn’t stop us from becoming friends, though.”

“So what happens if I accept your offer?” Stiles asked, the warmth from her palm seeping through the shirt and into his skin like a soothing balm.

“Then you are under my protection and my pack’s power and status increase. All of the wolves bound to me will become stronger, more in control of their shifts, and your own abilities will more quickly mature and stabilize.”

When she said it like that it made the entire thing sound like a win for everyone involved, but Stiles was not so easily swayed by pretty words. Well, that was actually a work in progress for him, but still.

“And the negatives?”

Talia’s smirk was back. “Clever, indeed,” she said with a sigh, squeezing his shoulder once before she settled back against the desk and crossed her arms. “There is an increased possibility of attack.”

“But you just said everyone would be more powerful,” he immediately protested.

“I did, but with great power-”

“Comes great responsibility?” he hazarded and Talia chuckled as she shook her head fondly.

“This isn’t quite a comic book, Stiles, and though that saying does fit most situations, this one is a bit more tricky. The sudden influx of power will draw all kinds of unwanted attention to us.”

“Like the alpha pack?”

She looked at him sharply.

“Their old emissary tried to eat my heart,” he informed her, then suddenly remembered the old lady. “And holy shit, their new emissary totally knows I’m here. She, I touched something of hers, a bag of rocks or something and-”

Talia seized his face in both of her hands and forced him to look into her gray-green eyes. “Stiles, calm down. If there is an alpha pack and they know you’re here, we will all be safer if you join us.”

And fuck, that wasn’t the way he’d wanted things to go, but the shit was apparently hitting the fan despite his attempt to flee away from the horrors in his life. Stiles was actually starting to toss around the idea that he was somehow cursed and that was why all that crap kept happening to him, but kept the theory to himself until he got more evidence. Not that he was particularly eager to accumulate more after what he’d already gone through.

“So you’re not going to let anyone try to cut my heart out?” he couldn’t help but ask, feeling kind of helpless and just fucking tired of all the terror he’d experienced and knowing there was just more to come.

Talia’s thumbs brushed over his cheekbones, he’d gotten them from his mother, along with her odd golden-brown eyes. “No one is going to harm you if you accept my offer,” she promised.

Stiles couldn’t bring himself to look her in the eyes any longer and averted his gaze even as he nodded. “Then I accept,” he said quietly, his heart thudding painfully in his chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Got home from work yesterday and there were a dozen cupcakes from a local bakery waiting there. Neither of us had ordered them, but we dug in anyway (they're awesome). So if you ever want to poison roommate and me, just leave us delicious baked goods and we'll nom on them without hesitation.  
> Turns out they were from roommate's work, but yeah, we definitely didn't know that at the time.


	21. Chapter 21

Talia gently lowered her hands from Stiles’ face to rest on his shoulders and gave him a small nod. “There is still a small ritual to perform later this evening, but it is for the others to participate in, and not anything you should be concerned about. Although,” her grin became toothy, almost impish, “I’m not opposed to keeping this little conversation just between the two of us for the time being, if that is something you’d be interested in.”

He was a bit confused, honestly, but then he realized what she was implying and couldn’t keep from smiling cautiously up at her. “I can definitely see where Laura gets it from,” he said by way of answering.

She threw back her head and laughed just like her daughter and Stiles chuckled quietly along with her. He wasn’t entirely onboard with the way things had gone down, but if he could potentially eek out at least a tiny bit of enjoyment from what promised to still be a pretty awkward evening he wasn’t going to pass up that kind of chance. Especially not if it meant having a little harmless fun at the expense of the others.

Yeah, Stiles was still an asshole.

“So here’s what I’m thinking,” he said, and enjoyed a rush of delight when Talia eagerly leaned closer.

  
  


The table was piled with an impressive array of dishes, most of them unsurprisingly meat-heavy, but there were enough vegetables to make Stiles nod in appreciation, and some degree of wonder. It had to have taken Rollin and the rest the better part of the day to prepare everything, and he was suddenly reminded that Boyd and Isaac, Stiles' own cooking buddies in the family, were still in Chicago. It was a sad thought, but he assumed they’d work quickly to wrap things up so they could join their pack again.

And apparently it was _Stiles_ ’ pack, too.

Not that anyone else besides Talia knew that, yet, but still. And really that was something that would require many long hours of contemplation before he fully wrapped his head around the magnitude of the commitment he’d made. Not that he’d been expecting to turn down the offer he’d thought was supposed to have been proposed later that night, it was just. It was different to accept it alone, in private with the alpha and not with the wind biting his skin as he tangled his fingers in Derek’s plush coat in the darkness of the forest, shivering and shaking from adrenaline and cold.

And that was probably a romanticized version of events, but Stiles was not without moments of idealization when it came to imagining how his life could have turned out had things gone differently.

Though really, it was probably for the best that Talia had taken him aside. He honestly wasn’t certain he could have survived entirely intact from a nocturnal run in the woods, not with his general penchant for gracelessness and inability to see in the dark. Add to that his old high school lacrosse coach’s horror story about how he’d lost one of his testicles to exposure and Stiles was pretty okay with not finding out what that kind of thing felt like.

Talia indicated for him to sit between Derek and where Peter had claimed the seat at the foot of the table. Erica was across from Stiles, sitting beside Rollin, who was next to his mate. It wasn’t any surprise that Talia was at the head of the table, nor that she was flanked by Rollin and Laura, who were apparently the highest ranking pack members. Maybe. Stiles was still a bit sketchy on that whole thing.

Derek glanced from his sister to him and Stiles realized she had a vice grip on her brother’s arm, like she had been keeping him in his chair by force. When Stiles settled down in his own chair Laura finally released him and turned to greet her mother in a cheerful tone, like she hadn’t just been actively restraining Derek.

“Hey,” Stiles said, not resisting when Derek instantly reached over and laced their fingers together in a wash of concern and relief that made Stiles a bit dizzy with the sudden potent influx of emotions that pretty much mirrored his own.

“Derek, do try not to overwhelm him,” Talia said casually, interrupting Laura mid-sentence, but then they went back to their discussion like nothing had happened.

He made to snatch his hand back, but Stiles tightened his fingers and used his other hand to seize Derek’s wrist in a loose hold. “It’s fine, I’m fine,” he said, trying to share his own assurance, but whether he was successful or not was debatable. Derek’s pensive look faded a bit, though, and his hand went lax in Stiles’, no longer in danger of pulling away, or breaking his fingers with his werewolf strength.

“How sweet,” Peter said in a mocking tone. Stiles was pretty sure being a total creepy douchebag was his default, and was really not that thrilled to be sitting next to him.

Instead of engaging him in a sass-off, which is what he probably would have done had other things not been weighing so heavily on his mind, Stiles just ignored Peter and focused on Derek, loosening his grip on the man's wrist and running his fingers over the veins on the back of Derek’s tense hand. Any words of comfort could be overheard, Stiles was well aware, and regardless, he’d noticed they didn’t mean as much to the werewolf as touch. Finally, Derek’s entire body started to relax by degrees.

Talia cleared her throat and the table was instantly quiet. Stiles wondered if it was an alpha thing or a Talia thing, but then again the two were kind of indistinguishable from each other, so he gave up that line of thought and focused on what she was saying.

“We are gathered this evening to introduce Stiles Stilinski, friend of Laura and Erica, and mate to my son Derek,” she said, like she was talking to some invisible audience that didn’t know exactly who Stiles was, which seemed a bit weird, but whatever. He thought it was probably some kind of protocol thing of which he wasn't aware.

“A spark as well,” Peter drawled, leaning back in his chair with a shit-eating grin.

Talia’s eyes flashed red and Stiles’ mouth went dry with a reactionary burst of adrenaline. Derek’s hand tightened on his and he was instantly reminded that he was safe there, that Talia wasn’t like Charlie, that she was in control and so were all of the other werewolves at the table. And fuck, Stiles hadn’t actually thought about it that way, that every single person around him could grow claws and fangs, and turn into actual fucking wolves capable of tearing people’s throats out. For some completely unfathomable reason he didn’t feel threatened by that, though. Stiles actually experienced a heady kind of relief, knowing that the pack, his pack, was there and that they would help protect him from danger.

“Yes,” Talia said slowly, narrowing her pale, river-water colored eyes at her brother, “Stiles is also a spark.”

Peter’s grin only grew and if Stiles had a werewolf’s nose he was pretty sure the guy would have stunk of self-satisfaction and douchebaggery.

Stiles turned back to look at her, uninterested in what else Peter had to contribute to the conversation. She was glancing around the table, as if daring, or perhaps inviting, anyone else to speak, though her expression was once again serene.

“Mate, be so kind as to serve me,” she said, glancing at her husband, and Rollin rose to his feet to put a portion of whatever kind of meat the roast was on her plate. “Thank you,” she said, “now serve Stiles, if you will.”

Erica gasped, quick and sharp and Derek’s grip tightened again, almost-painful, and that was clearly not what they’d expected to happen. Even Peter seemed confused as Rollin smiled and wordlessly walked behind Talia, Laura, and Derek, squeezing in between Stiles and Peter to place a choice hunk on his plate, the meat oozing red across the delicate floral pattern of the fine china. He gave Stiles an amused smirk and he clearly wasn’t out of the loop, or maybe he just trusted Talia without question. Regardless, it still startled everyone else, though they didn’t comment.

Laura reached over and served her father next, and then served herself. Peter picked a portion, followed by Derek and Erica. And Stiles was pretty sure that was a clear lesson on some of the pack ranking system he’d have to learn in order not to step on anyone’s toes. The hierarchy was a vital part of things, apparently, and he remembered Laura getting food first when he’d visited their house in Chicago. As he had suspected, she was in charge there, but not even she could usurp the alpha in Talia’s own home.

“Well,” Peter said at last as they all piled their plates with whatever else was in reach, the shock starting to fade from everyone’s faces. “It appears Stiles is more of a catch than I’d imagined.”

Stiles ignored him, which seemed the safest approach to dealing with Peter and nodded a smile to Derek as he silently offered Stiles some of whatever roasted vegetable dish was in front of them.

After everyone had begun to eat, Erica asked Rollin something about the preserve and the meal slowly became less tense and more like what Stiles imagined a normal family gathering was like. At least it seemed to be pretty close to what he’s observed from tv shows and movies, but his only personal frame of reference were the quick meals he’d shared with his dad growing up and the occasional dinners between the Stilinskis, McCalls, and Argents, which weren’t without many awkward moments and tiptoeing. So yeah, the Hales were just like a sitcom family, complete with the creepy uncle who liked to make inappropriate comments.

But after that first bit of tension they just seemed at ease with each other, joking easily, sometimes play-growling and flashing their too-sharp teeth and different-colored eyes. Peter’s were blue, Stiles noticed when he and Derek bitched at each other about some past infraction neither had gone into detail about, though Stiles got the impression that it was extremely childish, especially when Erica rolled her eyes dramatically and engaged Laura and Talia in conversation. It was Rollin who had broken up that almost-fight between the two men, his eyes an eerie, blazing orange when he shifted them, and Stiles wondered if that had to do with him being the alpha’s mate, and if that were the case, then if his eyes had been yellow or blue beforehand. Had he started out as a human?

Peter snorted derisively, but didn’t harass his nephew anymore and Stiles felt Derek’s hand squeeze his leg just above his knee. “How do you like it?” he asked, and that was pretty much the first thing he’d said to Stiles since they'd sat down to dinner.

“It’s wonderful,” he said with sincerity. It was kind of bullshit that the werewolves would have been able to hear him lie, not that he did because the food was awesome, but that was something he knew he had to keep in mind because otherwise things could get extremely uncomfortable.

“Good,” Derek said, and went back to his meal, but he kept his hand on Stiles, a comforting weight to focus on amidst the general chaos.

Eventually, though, Peter just couldn’t stop himself, and tried again. “So, little spark, what kind of magic do you possess? It’s important that we figure out how useful you’ll be to the pack as quickly as possible given the situation at hand.”

He meant the alpha pack, of course, and Stiles stiffened. He didn’t even need to hear Derek’s growl to know he was pissed off and feeling more than a bit possessive. And that was enough of _that_.

So Stiles smirked, slow and easy, even going so far as to breathe out a laugh. “Well beta, if you’re so eager to find out let’s go out back and I’ll give you a personal demonstration. Though I’ll warn you, it might be a bit _shocking_.”

“And _illuminating_ ,” Laura piped up, a smile in her voice, though Stiles didn’t turn to check. He made a mental note to high-five her later for that pun.

Peter rolled his eyes. “If you’re saying your talent lies in electrical energy then I honestly don’t see how that will help us in a fight against the likes of someone as powerful as Deucalion. I heard he’s acquired a new emissary, one that puts his last to shame.”

And that was a weird title or name or whatever it was, but it didn't phase him, nor did the emissary thing because Stiles refused to think about it. “Seemed to work well enough when I had a rifle pointed at my head,” he said, voice somehow completely even as he took another bite of potato.

“Stiles blew a hole in a steel roof,” Erica pointed out, “and defended Boyd using a mountain ash barrier.”

Peter shrugged. “Tricks,” he said dismissively, “when what we _need_ is a trained practitioner to help defend us.” That was directed to Talia, who had placed her knife and fork on the edge of her plate and as looking down the table at her brother with a long-suffering expression that spoke of having had the same discussion many times before.

“You know Alan isn’t a warrior, brother,” she said mildly, “he isn’t trained for that. And, I refuse to turn us into a pack of violent animals. We protect our own, but we do not go looking for fights, especially not now that we are once again in our own established territory. You’re well aware we can't afford that kind of reputation. No wolves can."

So Peter’s plan was to see if he could weaponize him? To use Stiles to fight against their enemies and woah, he hadn’t actually taken that kind of thing into account, and he’d only really _defended_ himself with his magic. Stiles wasn’t sure he could utilize it to hurt someone, well, not unless it was on accident like what had happened to suddenly-not-dead Gerard. The creepy asshole.

"Stiles is not going to be part of that," Derek said decisively, and while Stiles didn't disagree with him in front of the others, he knew that probably wasn't necessarily true. Instead he patted Derek's hand where it was still resting on his thigh, then took a bite of the bacon and asparagus hash.They'd have a have long discussion about sparks and magic and decision-making.

_Later_.

  
  


“Stiles," Talia said after they'd all helped clean up the table and stacked the dishes in the kitchen for Peter and Rollin to wash, "I believe you and my son have been making great progress in Laura and Erica’s couples yoga class. Would you two care to give us a little demonstration before we venture outside for the ritual?”

Derek turned to him, letting Stiles decide whether or not they would do as she proposed. He wasn’t exactly dressed for it, neither of them were; Derek in Stiles’ too-tight polo shirt, him in Derek’s too-loose henley, both of them sporting jeans, but then again Stiles really enjoyed trying out new poses, or even old ones, with the other man.

So he nodded at Talia and she grinned in reply, clapping her hands together in a move that reminded him of Laura, who coincidentally appeared at her side.

“Laura, be a dear and help the boys find more suitable clothing, I believe you and Erica brought some of your brother’s things did you not?”

Laura smirked and nodded. “We sure did, come on, _boys_ , let’s go.”

Derek shoved her as soon as they’d rounded the corner into the entry-way. “You could have told me you had my clothes,” he said grumpily. “I thought I was going to have to just keep wearing the same thing until Boyd and Isaac got here.”

“You didn’t ask,” she sing-songed, then looked him up and down with a smirk. “Though I certainly don’t remember you owning anything like _that_.” She glanced over Derek’s shoulder to Stiles and he felt himself flush as she gave the shirt he was wearing a knowing look. “Looks cute on you, Stiles,” she said and his face just got warmer as Derek growled a warning.

Laura was _evil_.

But then again there was a duffle bag sitting on Derek's bed when they got to his room and the other man whipped off the too-small shirt as soon as he saw it, tossing the garment onto his pillow.

"Orange and blue really weren't your colors," Laura remarked casually from the doorway as Derek dug through the bag. And actually it was the one he'd packed for Stiles when they'd left Chicago what felt like a lifetime ago.

"Going to watch me change?" Derek asked as he pulled out two pairs of sweatpants and tossed one to Stiles, who completely failed to catch it because he may or may not have been distracted by the powerful play of Derek’s muscles as he turned to the door to glare at his sister.

Laura just shrugged. "Doesn't bother me," she said and Stiles had to remind himself that they were werewolves with a much different sense of boundaries than other people. But while she didn't care about privacy, he did.

Derek glanced at Stiles like he'd said it outloud, then glared at his sister. "Out," he commanded, pointing to the hallway as his eyes flashed blue.

Laura rolled her eyes. "No need for dramatics Der-Bear. And don't bother with a shirt, you're going to be stripping soon, anyway. And don't keep us waiting long, either, you know we'll be able to smell it if you two get up to anything _untoward_."

"Out!" Derek full-on growled and she raised her hands, retreating with an amused huff, but at least she closed the door behind her.

And then Derek was turning to Stiles, looking concerned and spectacularly attractive standing there shirtless in his room and Stiles was pretty thankful for Laura's warning because otherwise he might have actually considered trying something with the other man. Well, if Derek hadn't looked like he'd swallowed something sour.

Stiles raised his eyebrows and slowly unbuttoned his jeans and didn't miss how Derek's pupils dilated at the gesture. He smiled in response and enjoyed the slow blush that pinked the other man's ears. "Not the time," Stiles said teasingly just so Derek would roll his eyes and break the tension he was clearly holding in his shoulders.

"Do you want a different shirt?" Derek asked, and Stiles could tell he said it grudgingly, like he really didn't want him to change at all, but was allowing Stiles to make his own choice.

He was willing to compromise. "Come here," he said softly as his pants slid to the ground and then Derek was pressed up against him, arms wrapped tight around his ribcage as Stiles grabbed the back of the other man's neck to keep him there. Derek's jeans weren't entirely comfortable against the bare skin of his thighs, but he wasn't complaining because he could feel the low simmering of Derek's interest along with his concern and relief and Stiles turned his face to rub against the scruff of Derek's cheek.

"I'll wear this one," he said quietly, lowering his hands to skim down the impossibly soft skin of Derek's back, enjoying the flex of muscles until he reached the edge of his pants. "May I?" he whispered and smiled as Derek nodded quickly, his breath hitching.

Stiles slowly slid his hands around to Derek's taut stomach and unbuttoned, then unzipped his jeans at an utterly unhurried pace. He loved that, unwrapping the other man, even more so when he heard Derek's chest rumble in a purr or growl or whatever it was. "I thought we might try that pose you showed me," Stiles said, staring down at the exposed band of Derek's underwear that had dried precome visible on the fabric just under it and he smiled at the memory of having been party to that particular event.

"Are you certain?" Derek asked as his own hands slid up under the back of Stiles' borrowed shirt to rest on his shoulder blades as he ducked his head and nuzzled Stiles' cheek.

"You know I am," Stiles replied, kicking off his shoes and then his pants. Derek grunted and followed his lead, but didn't bother to lift his head from where it was tucked against Stiles' neck, sniffing him, he was pretty sure.

And really, Stiles could just stay there, together in Derek's room, touching the other man and being touched, not even in a sexual way, just. Just _touching_. He knew it wasn't because of the magic, either, it wasn't because Derek was his anchor, it was because he was Derek, which was about when Stiles realized the crush he'd had on his yoga partner had somehow evolved into an aching _thing_ that edged on overwhelming, but somehow wasn't.

He couldn't say any of that out loud, of course, not only because he wasn't keen to give Peter even more creeper fodder, but because Stiles wasn't even sure how that whole situation was going to play out or if Derek even felt the same. Well, okay, so Derek's feelings weren't all that much of a mystery since he literally leaked them on Stiles whenever they touched, but that was an actual conversation they needed to have, which was better done in private, after the events of the evening were completed.

"Are you nervous about to run?" Derek asked, mistaking Stiles' anticipation for something else.

He shrugged. "Are you?"

Derek was, he knew, could feel it even as the man's hands smoothed up and down his back like he was trying to comfort _Stiles_. But instead of voicing his concerns he just nodded silently.

"I think we might be able to pull off that yoga pose, don't you?" Stiles asked with a smile as he changed the subject to something they could both agree was awesome. "I mean, it's a pretty advanced move, but if Laura or Erica spots me I think I could do it. Plus, you're crazy-flexible, so we both know you shouldn't have a problem as my base." He placed his palms against Derek's chest, where they'd be when he attempted the pose, then slowly backed up to look him in the eye.

Derek was fighting a smile and only half-succeeded in tamping it down into something like a smirk.

“What do you say, partner?” Stiles asked as he reached down to pick up the sweats he’d dropped on the floor and maybe intentionally breathing a hot puff of breath over Derek’s clothed cock as he rose slowly to his feet, grinning at the other man’s sassy look.

“Yes,” Derek said grudgingly, but when he leaned in to kiss Stiles it was impossibly sweet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Convo with parents this weekend-  
> Me: I'm writing a lot, but it's mostly for fun (goes on to detail number of words/chapters/etc).  
> Mom: Oh, is this for your Teen Wolf show?  
> Cousin: Oh, yeah! *high-fives me with a big-ass grin because she's kind of an ass, but also pretty hilarious*  
> Me: Yep.  
> Mom: Well I want to read it, what's your pen name?  
> Me: *internally screaming* NOPE! That's not, no, that's not going to happen. I, no.  
> Dad: Why? Is it XXX? *smirking because he's also an ass, sometimes*  
> Me: *DYING* Uh, sometimes, yeah. *nervous laugh* (Because I am INCAPABLE of lying to my parents and I shouldn't have to because I AM AN ADULT damnit)  
> Mom: Well, I at least want to see that fanart you told us about.  
> Me: *shows them the amazing fanart, which happens to have my pen name on it because that's how my life works*
> 
> So, yeah, my mom's probably going to be googling that and reading this story...um...yeah...hi Mom? Does this make you want to disown me again because that first time kind of sucked...


	22. Chapter 22

Their audience was gathered and waiting, all of the Hales and Erica, who was basically a Hale despite her last name, were perched or sprawled across the massive couch. And apparently Derek and Stiles were supposed to perform on the thick rug that lay between the couch and the massive fireplace that was probably big enough for Stiles to walk into without ducking his head. A fireplace that was actively full of fire.

Yeah, that was mildly alarming.

“So, we’re doing this here?” he asked dubiously, eying the flames until his vision got spotty from it. He blinked at Laura when she snorted and it was hard to make out her expression because of the bright afterimage, but he was pretty sure it was a smirky one because it was Laura and that was pretty much her default face.

Derek gripped Stiles by the back of his bicep to stop him and just kind of grunted in acknowledgement of Stiles’ question, which he guessed was answer enough from the suddenly non-verbal werewolf. And really? He was actually kind of getting used to Derek’s whole closed-off personality thing when he was around other people. It was kind of like he was some kind of super-introvert that couldn’t properly communicate unless he was one-on-one with someone else.

Whatever, Stiles could talk enough for the both of them.

“So, uh, Erica or, okay, yeah,” he said when Erica leapt over the side of the couch and _skipped_ to their side, Derek eyeing her warily. “Hey, Erica, can you spot me with this one? I don’t think it would work out so well for me if I fell, you know, into the fire or something equally terrible.”

“A true spark should be able to bend any element to his will,” Peter piped up, and Stiles just barely managed not to flip him off, though it took an enormous amount of self-control.

As it was he rolled his eyes at Erica and she smirked in response, though her back was turned to Peter and the rest so it wasn’t like she was going to get in trouble for sassing a higher-ranking member of the pack, right? Stiles wasn’t actually sure if there was some kind of respect or discipline thing that went on, but he wasn’t exactly eager for her to suffer the consequences if that was the case.

“Well, _this spark_ is not going to take his chances of unintentionally creating a conflagration, so deal with it,” he said as Derek moved to his position, kneeling on the floor and facing Stiles. He took a deep breath and released it, the tense muscles of his chest and stomach expanding and contracting. He slowly leaned back to rest his palms against his heels, his head tilted back so his neck was a taught, exposed line.

Stiles swallowed.

“Coming at ya,” he said softly. He hadn’t realized how vulnerable Derek would look in that pose, all bare skin and stretched muscles, but he was quick to move forward, planting his hands firmly on the man’s pecks and slowly leaning forward, pressing more of his weight down through his palms until he could raise his knees, actually kind of shocked that he was able to do it, and then he was balanced over Derek in a kind of a crouch.

It was incredible.

Laura gave a low whistle. “Not bad, boys!” she said, and Stiles was pretty sure she was taking a picture, but didn’t want to turn away from Derek to check. The other man lifted his head gradually and met Stiles' gaze in a blaze of blue eyes and a thick pulse of wonder.

Stiles smiled down at him, delighted even though his arms were trembling at having to support his full weight, his wrists twinging from being forced into such an awkward angle and he couldn't even imagine how Derek's back must have felt.

"Dismounting," Stiles grunted as he tried to control his descent, but it was really just him leaning and then falling back. Thankfully, Erica took her job as spotter seriously because she caught him around the waist from behind before his feet even hit the ground and did her super strong hug, bone-rattling joyful shaking thing, but set him down gently when Derek growled a warning at her.

“That was awesome, dude,” Stiles said and for a half a second Derek even grinned back at him before his expression took on the all-too-familiar brood. Stiles opened his mouth to protest, but then the other man had captured his hand in one of his and he could feel how delighted Derek was, so he let it go.

He didn’t even really remember their audience until he heard them start to shift and move off of the couch. And yeah, okay, so it kind of made sense for them not to get all up in each other’s business given the circumstances, but Stiles still wanted to do some kind of celebratory something, like kiss Derek until the werewolf was panting for breath, or, yeah. That actually sounded like a lot of fun. He’d have to get on that later.

When they weren’t surrounded by werewolves.

Judgemental ones, at that, if Peter’s quirked-brow was anything to go by, the asshole.

Ugh, Stiles was not a fan of Derek’s uncle, but at Talia’s insistence, which amounted to a nod, they followed along behind her and Rollin toward the back of the house and out into the night.

  
  


There was already a huge pile of wood back in a clearing that could possibly be considered the Hale's back yard, though it was more like a natural-looking meadow than anything that seemed in need of being mowed. Stiles wanted to ask if they had goats or something hidden away to keep everything so neatly trimmed, but didn't exactly think it was the proper time to inquire. Because there was a ritual to perform and werewolves to trick and whatnot.

It was cold, nothing like Wisconsin, but still too chilly for him to stay out there for long without some kind of warmer gear or at least a fire, but no one made a move to light it and actually, the rest of them save Talia were quickly defrocking, leaving their clothes in piles, some neat like Peter's, some just heaped where they were left like Rollin's. Stiles wasn't surprised that Derek followed his uncle's example while the Laura and Erica followed his father's.

Stiles kept his gaze fixed on what he could make out of the piled wood in the dark twilight instead of accidentally catching a glimpse of bare skin because there were just some things he really didn't want to see, not even when Peter walked directly into his line of sight because he was a douche. Stiles looked pointed away, at Talia, since she was still clothed. That was safe enough.

"As is tradition," she said in her calm, rich voice, "the pack will now run the border of the Hale land to ensure the ceremony is undisturbed by other wolves or uninvited guests. Rollin, girls, head east. Peter, Derek, go west. When you have each completed the circuit, return here and we will begin the ritual."

She didn't say what ritual, Stiles noticed, admiring her ability to skirt around the truth while not actually telling a lie. That was a pretty cool talent, actually, and he vowed to listen more closely to what she and the others said in order to maybe possibly gain that same kind of ability. Because it was pretty clear his life was going to be full of werewolves and he really didn’t need them hating him because he was a liar, or because he told too much of the truth.

Supernatural shit was hard to deal with, sometimes. Even hypothetical supernatural shit.

Derek gave him a lingering, concerned look before he turned into the gloriously fluffy red-orange wolf with glowing blue eyes. Stiles dropped to his knees and threw his arms around him and let the wolf nuzzle his cheek. "Have a good run," he said, and turned to see Rollin standing huge and white, orange eyes blazing as the smaller, gray wolves took off with him at their heels. Peter was some dark color, save for the bright splash of white on his underbelly and he snapped his teeth near Derek's flank, clearly wanting to get on with things. "Be safe," Stiles told him with one last scratch behind his ears and then the soft fur was gone and he had to cross his arms over his chest to conserve the lingering warmth.

It was several long moments before Talia finally sighed. "Well, shall we start the fire? I didn't expect you to start shivering so soon, but I really should have, I suppose. My apologies, I have no excuse not to know about your needs since my sister-in-law, niece and nephew are humans as well."

That actually kind of shocked Stiles out of shivering for a second. "Wait," he said as he moved closer to her, "I thought there was a higher probability of having a werewolf child compared to a human."

Talia nodded, at least he thought she did, it was hard to tell in the dark. "That is true in most cases, but genetics and heritability aren't always so clear-cut. Would you like to try to start the fire, spark?"

Not really, but he knew it was the part of the ceremony he was actually supposed to perform, the rest was more for the wolves, and for fun. But he moved to the edge of the woodpile, anyway, and held out his hands like he sort of remembered Deaton showing him.

"Magic is about emotion," Talia said from just over his shoulder and he nodded. That made sense because the only time he'd cast was when he'd been feeling a lot of it, anger and fear, mostly.

Stiles stared at the wood, pale against the black of the forest and the cloudy gray of the darkening sky. He imagined what it would look like engulfed in flames, the orange blinding bright. But that wasn't an emotion. He tried again, trying to feel the warmth that wasn't there, to hear the roaring crackle and smell the thick scent of woodsmoke.

_Nothing_.

"Emotion," Talia reminded him and the only emotion Stiles felt was annoyance at not being able to do anything and at the fact that he was starting to shiver again from the cold, which could be remedied if he could just get the damned fire started.

But that probably wasn't the kind of emotion she was talking about or else he'd probably have cast long before his little light show. He needed to focus on something that made him _feel_ and _huh_. That was a thought.

"Might want to step back," he cautioned as he disregarded his own advice and moved closer to the wood, until the toes of Derek's borrowed boots struck the nearest log. It was probably close enough.

Stiles closed his eyes and cleared his mind like Erica had taught him in the beginners class, allowing all of his thoughts to seep out of him like water, cleansing his mind as it all drained out. The only thing he kept inside was what he felt for Derek. That kind of bone-deep affection he refused to give another label, but there it was, pulsing and potent. Stiles drew that out, feeling his heart ache with it until even his breathing was coming too quick. He opened his eyes and silently commanded the wood to ignite.

His hair stood on end as he felt the tremendous thrum of power before he saw the electric white bolt hurl down from the sky and explode in front of him in a sudden shower of fire. There was a firm arm around his stomach, hauling him back before he even realized he'd been in danger, but the bonfire was lit and Stiles _had done that_.

"Holy shit, I just summoned lightning," he said as Talia cautiously let him go, stepping to his side as she looked him over for any obvious damage, but he was fine, he was great, really.

"You did," she agreed lightly, "and I believe my son is rapidly approaching. You may want to brace yourself."

Stiles whirled and barely had time to do what she'd proposed before he had his arms full of fur, the wolf, Derek, on his hind legs, hugging Stiles with his forelegs as he sniffed and licked every patch of exposed skin he could reach.

"Hey I'm fine," he laughed as Derek swiped his tongue across the hollow of Stiles' throat. "Calm down, big guy, it's okay, just part of the ritual."

Derek leaned back so they could look actually look at each other. He was not at all impressed, which was stupid because summoning lightning was pretty damn impressive.

"Spark initiations are different," Stiles replied to Derek’s obvious question about Stiles’ general sanity.

The wolf rolled his eyes and huffed, carefully twisting away as he resumed his four-legged stance. Peter came bursting into the clearing next, his blue eyes flicking between Stiles and the fire and back before he came to an abrupt stop some feet away and plopped his butt on the ground, showcasing his stark white belly. He could almost have passed for a dog if not for his eyes. And the fact that even in wolf form he seemed like a bit of an asshole.

The others weren't far behind and Stiles carded his fingers slowly through Derek's fur as they appeared from the opposite tree line, just pale flashes and eerily bright eyes until they reached the halo of light cast by the fire and dissolved into powerful-looking wolves, Rollin in front flanked by Laura and Erica. Stiles was pretty sure that if he’d seen anything like the three of them in the woods before he’d learned about werewolves he would most definitely have peed his pants. At the least. There would probably been some high-pitched screaming involved, too. And crying. They were pretty intimidating.

"The spark has proven himself worthy of our hospitality and protection," Talia intoned, back to her role as alpha. "He has given us this fire as a gesture of goodwill and of his commitment to our pack."

Which, okay, he'd just summoned the lightning because she'd told him to and oh, okay that made sense. She'd given him a command and he'd followed it because she was his alpha. So, yeah, he was pack, apparently. That was a thing.

Derek nudged his hip in approval and a bit of worry, but Stiles didn’t feel particularly drained quite yet, so he just smoothed back the fur on Derek’s neck and watched as the three pale wolves came to a stop beside Talia.

“Traditionally, to be accepted into our pack, the prospective member must prove that they are capable of keeping up with us as we run the border of our land.” She looked from one wolf to to another, starting at Peter and ending with Erica. “But a spark is no common beta, and we would not sully our relationship by putting him in potential danger, so instead of running, it is up to us to prove to _him_ that we are a pack worthy of his loyalty and talents.”

Peter shorted, which sounded more like a sneeze, but it was Rollin who silenced him with a vicious snarl, his hackles rising as he moved a step closer toward the dark wolf. All of the others froze at that and Stiles could tell Derek was floored by that reaction, like he’d never heard his dad make that kind of a noise before and couldn’t quite wrap his head around it.

“The entire pack will participate in this,” Talia informed her brother with a steely tone to her voice that made the other wolves shift uncomfortably. Derek even pressed a bit closer to Stiles’ side and he tightened his grip on the fur at the nape of the wolf’s neck. “A spark, one my own son recognizes as his _mate_ , is rare, indeed, and no one will be allowed to alienate him from my pack, not even you, brother.”

And woah, Stiles was not entirely comfortable with the sibling rivalry thing or whatever it was that they had going on. A power struggle? Because of _him_?

Peter shifted back to his human form, powerfully muscled and totally naked. Stiles looked down at Derek, who was watching his uncle warily. From the way he and the others startled at the shift Stiles was pretty sure it wasn’t exactly protocol. That seemed to mesh with what Derek had told him earlier, too, that all of the pack members stayed wolves until the end of the night.

“You would risk us for this boy?” Peter asked, pointing a, yep, a clawed hand at Stiles as Derek growled, moving his massive body between the two of them. From the corner of his eye, he saw the other three wolves advance as well, clearly siding with him and Talia, and Stiles hadn’t meant to alienate one of the pack members. That hadn’t at all been his goal when he’d agreed to join them.

“This boy is a spark, Peter. He’s Anya’s son and he belongs with us,” Talia said evenly.

Peter’s lip curled back, but Stiles couldn’t hear if he snarled or not. “The spark that Deucalion has tried to take once already, and now has succeeded in locating a second time. The same spark the Argents wanted to use against us. I heard Boyd’s account and we both know how things could have turned out for him, being faced by a newly turned alpha a day before his first full moon.”

Talia stepped up beside Stiles. “And yet Boyd was saved by Stiles, who could have just doused himself in mountain ash and walked away from the danger, but he didn’t, he stood his ground and fought and _won_.”

“He won because Argent neglected to remember that wolves are especially dangerous when injured,” Peter scoffed, throwing his arms wide, and Stiles could see the argument going on and on for hours since neither side seemed to be bending.

“Stiles is a member of this pack, the highest in rank save myself and my mate,” Talia informed her brother cooly. “You would do well to remember that.”

Peter’s eyes flashed blue and his face shifted to something like a cross between Derek and Charlie’s distorted features. It wasn’t very attractive at all, and was actually pretty terrifying. Beside him Derek’s quiet rumbling growl took on a wet-sounding edge as he tensed.

“I have a right to challenge anyone in this pack, especially if they’re a higher rank,” Peter said, lowering his center of gravity like he was going to charge Stiles right then and there.

And yeah, okay, he wasn’t at all prepared for that kind of a thing. No one had warned him about it, though he probably should have suspected there was a way to change the hierarchical pack structure outside of however he’d managed it. Just by being a spark, apparently? But it wasn’t like he’d have a chance in hell of winning if Peter did follow through with the whole dueling thing it looked like he was ready and willing to start. Which would probably mean Stiles would lose his place as what, second in line for the werewolf throne? It wasn’t exactly a position he coveted, but then again if he lost he was pretty sure Peter would be a gigantic asshole about it until the end of time.

Derek stepped forward between the two of them and Stiles felt a swoop of dread in his stomach because even though he was in wolf form, Stiles knew exactly what he was doing. He was challenging his uncle, a pack member two steps ahead of him and he really didn’t need to be well versed in werewolf culture to know that was a very risky move.

“Any pack member of lower rank has the right to challenge one of higher rank,” Talia said calmly, which baffled Stiles because personally he was feeling quite the opposite of calm.

He looked over at her with an incredulous expression. “You’re just going to let them duke it out like this, like their fighting for my honor?”

She glanced at him and shook her head in all seriousness. “No, Peter is trying to make you an outcast. If he succeeds in beating you, it proves that you’re unworthy of the position you’ve been granted, and then each wolf in the pack that ranks lower than him will challenge you in turn until your place is established. Should you fail to beat any of them in combat you’ll be relegated the the role of omega.”

That didn’t sound good.

Stiles kind of wished Derek was close enough to touch, still, but he’d been steadily advancing on his uncle, circling between him and the fire with a savage growl.

“Who’s the omega now?” Stiles asked, eyes fixed on the wolf and the half-shifted man as they snarled at each other and moved with deadly grace, though neither had actively attacked quite yet. “And what the hell is Derek doing?” Because that was really the question that mattered.

“Derek ranks below Peter, so he is challenging him for his rank. Unless Laura steps in to challenge their uncle in his place, the two of them will fight and one will beat the other,” he had the distinct feeling she meant that literally. “Or,” she said slowly, “you could accept the challenge and fight him yourself. Our pack has no omega,” she finished as an afterthought.

It was definitely not a good thing, then.

And that whole situation made him feel all kinds of helpless because while Stiles was pretty good at talking himself out of trouble, he wasn’t all that great at fighting his way out of it. And really, except for his hoodie trick and some other basic self-defense moves his dad had drilled into him at a young age, he was not all that confident in his ability to succeed in an actual fight, especially not one where he was pitted against a supernaturally-armed opponent.

Stiles wanted more time to think about things, to ask questions and figure out exactly what the hell was going on, but there wasn’t time and he had a feeling that as soon as the two touched the match would be on and there would be nothing he could do to stop it. And really? Would it be so bad for him to be the omega? That was probably where any new pack member started out, anyway, especially since Stiles’ whole rank-skipping thing had garnered some pretty astonished reactions.

_Fuck it_. Stiles wasn’t going to allow Derek to put himself in danger on his behalf, that was not okay with him.

“I accept,” he heard himself say, impressed by his own resolute tone, but of course every single werewolf in the clearing could hear the too-quick beat of his heart. “I accept your challenge and refuse to allow anyone to fight in my place,” he added because that sounded like something he should probably put out there before Derek tried to do anything stupid like insist on fighting despite his declaration. Not that anyone was more of an idiot than Stiles for willingly going against a hulking half-shifted rage-monster douchebag like Peter.

Yeah, Stiles was totally fucked.

That was especially clear when his challenger threw back his head and howled out a laugh into otherwise eerie stillness of the night.

_The asshole._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I saw my mom and she found out about the little stories I tell at the end of my chapters she gave me about half a dozen more frightening/horrifying ones to share...I'll have to mentally sort through them to make sure they're actually safe for reader consumption because woah, my mom was kind of a badass in the ER, especially when it came to violent criminal patients that came in freshly pepper-sprayed and chewed on by police dogs. She has never suffered fools.
> 
> There's a picture of this kind of pose on my tumblr (ravingrevolution.tumblr.com) under "yoga pose references" if you're interested in checking it out/making fanart ^_^


	23. Chapter 23

Unsurprisingly, it started to snow. Peter had actually laughed himself breathless and was bent double, clutching his bare knees with clawed hands as he heaved misting breaths into the fire-lit darkness of the winter night, small flakes drifting lazily around them all and Stiles struggled not to roll his eyes. Derek had retreated back to his side and was seriously unimpressed with Stiles’ life choices, which was kind of how he personally felt about the situation, too, but didn’t say so because he’d made the declaration and everything so he had to stick with it.

“Probably too much to ask that I have a little mountain ash to even the odds, right?” Stiles said, glancing over at Talia who was flat-out scowling at Peter, though the man was slowly getting himself back under control. Emphasis on _slowly_. And really, Stiles' dislike for him seemed pretty well-founded at this point, so there was that. Not that knowing that helped him at all, but the little buzz of satisfaction at seeing Talia’s expression soothed a tiny bit of his otherwise overwhelming worry and self-loathing.

“You’ll use whatever tools are at your disposal,” she replied, “which is unfortunately limited to what you have on-hand.”

And that was basically a fat lot of nothing. Had Stiles known what the evening would hold, he definitely would have made Derek stop by Deaton’s clinic so he could have grabbed a vial of mountain ash, but that hadn’t happened so whatever, he’d make do. He even briefly contemplated grabbing a flaming branch from the fire, but that was kind of ridiculously violent, so that was a no. He wanted to maybe win the fight, not seriously disfigure the other man. And Stiles kind of hoped Peter had the same feeling about things because he didn’t relish the thought of being gutted and left to bleed out on the cold ground.

_Shit_.

There was actually a possibility that Stiles wasn’t going to come out of that in one piece. A pretty significant possibility judging by the gleam in Peter’s icy blue eyes and the glint of the firelight of of his claws and too-sharp teeth. And the guy was back to reality, apparently, ready and positively eager to fight.

_Fuck_.

"Any other rules I should know about fireside fight club?" Stiles asked because why the hell not?

He was pretty sure he heard Laura, or maybe Erica, give a low whine, but he was too busy watching Peter glare daggers at him to check it out. At his side Derek was about as displeased as Stiles had ever known him to be, but he couldn't interfere with the fight because that, at least, was a rule.

It was Talia who answered, since she was the only other person in her human form save for Peter, who didn’t seem all that eager to discuss things when he could be plotting to take Stiles’ position. "The fight ends when one party submits to the other. No one may interrupt the engagement."

So that was pretty much what he’d been thinking, at least the part about Derek not being able to help him. And submission? Yikes.

"You ready to get this party started, creeper-wolf?" Stiles asked, just to see Peter snarl. He thought maybe it would become less terrifying upon repeat exposure, but like Laura's glares the answer was a firm nope. Peter was still kind of terrifying.

Stiles tried to bring to mind all the training he’d ever had on fighting, but most of it entailed getting away from the scene as quickly as possible in order to call the authorities and minimize bodily harm, so that didn’t help. Neither did Peter’s constant, idling-engine growling or the displeased whining that was coming from Derek, Laura _and_ Erica.

He was utterly _fucked_.

So much for making good life choices, or surviving through the night.

“Come at me, crazypants,” his mouth said largely without his permission, and Peter charged with a roar.

Somehow, he wasn’t even able to reconstruct the scene afterward he was so blind with terror and adrenaline, Stiles managed to dodge the first swipe of Peter’s claws and make it almost around to the other side of the fire before the werewolf regained his balance from where he’d fallen into the dirt, apparently so overconfident in his ability to land a blow that he hadn’t anticipated the possibility of Stiles being able to sidestep him. Which, hey, that was fair enough since he couldn’t come up with a logical reason for that to have happened, either.

But it didn’t take Peter more than the blink of an eye to get his feet back under him and then he was lunging toward Stiles again, the hairy planes of his his naked body seeming to glow in the firelight. A shame Stiles wasn’t at all good at the whole fire-summoning thing, not like he was with lightning and woah, he could potentially deliver on his earlier threat to light the fucker up.

_That_ was a thing.

As long as he wasn’t impaled, first.

Peter’s next slash ripped through the side of Derek’s henley and at least one claw managed to snag Stiles’ skin, making him fight back a hiss of pain.

Derek yowled unhappily, like Stiles had screamed instead of just kind of grunted.

It wasn’t over, though, Peter kept advancing on him, a smirk on his distorted face, lazily swiping at him as he steadily backed Stiles up, away from the fire and into the darkness where he wouldn’t be able to see well enough to defend himself.

He stumbled backward, knowing it was the kind of chase that he was going to lose if he didn’t _do_ something, and judging by his track record it was going to be something completely stupid and reckless and yeah, most likely magical. Stiles slapped a hand to his side and tried not to think about the burning liquid that was seeping out of it because if he did there was a significant possibility of him having either a panic attack or fainting or both.

“Do you submit?” Peter lisped through his fangs. The fucker looked positively delighted with himself.

Stiles was actually thankful they were outside the halo of firelight because then he _couldn’t_ see the blood as he stumbled again on the uneven ground and both his palms struck the dirt as he fell to his knees in front of the other man. Distantly he heard Derek’s distressed barking, but he blocked it out, blocked everything out as he stared at the gritty black ground.

His mother had been strong in earth, he knew. He knew it like he knew the sound of her laughter and the feel of her calloused hands on his face as she pressed her warm lips to his forehead. She had bent their garden to her will, encouraged it to blossom despite the weather and while Stiles wasn’t sure he had a green thumb like hers, he knew that if he hoped, if he _believed_ hard enough, the earth would tend to him like she’d tended to it.

So he raised his head until he could stare into the violent blue eyes of his advancing attacker, the scratch on his side stinging as he tensed his body for what was about to happen. “I will not submit to you,” Stiles said, and knew Peter could tell he wasn’t lying because the werewolf’s half-shifted features seemed to grow angier from what he could see in the darkness.

He charged Stiles again, body arrogantly open as he raised a clawed hand high overhead like he was going to slash Stiles’ throat where he crouched in the dirt. Stiles closed his eyes, thought about the comfort of his mother’s embrace, and _believed_.

The earth moved beneath him, at first just a gentle tremor, but then it gave a mighty undulation and there was no piercing pain, no white-hot agony tearing through him. No, but the dirt was kind of warm, actually, which made him open his eyes and Stiles realized he was sprawled out on the ground. The fire was still lit off to the side of the clearing, and he could make out the shape of Talia and the three pale wolves, who seemed to be physically restraining a fourth, which was Derek, of course, barking frantically as he struggled against the others trying to get to Stiles.

He scanned the ground around him, but couldn’t see Peter anywhere, though he could make out what seemed to be some kind of a dark mound that hadn’t been there before and he stumbled to his feet to check it out, wincing at the pull of the wound on his side, but he was fairly certain the scratch was just superficial, so he tucked his elbow against it with a grunt since his hands were covered in dirt.

“Peter?” he asked as he drew closer, and the mound _moved_.

Stiles slowed, cautious, and circled around it, still unable to make out more than the vague shape that was almost as tall as him, but when he got to the other side he could see Peter’s blue eyes blazing at him from an odd angle and then he realized it was because his head was thrown back like he’d been flying backward when the dirt had encased him. He was also panting for breath, so that probably wasn’t a good thing.

“Do you submit?” Stiles asked, not really knowing what else to say.

The eyes narrowed, but finally the werewolf nodded and then there was a softly furred wolf at his side, nudging the torn shirt so it could get to Stiles’ wound and he flinched away before he realized it was Derek and he was attempting to see to his cut.

“Yo, dude, uh, yeah, that’s, okay I guess you’re going to, shit,” Stiles hissed, but didn’t push Derek’s head away because even though the wolf's rough tongue kind of fucking hurt, he wasn't going to turn down its probable cleansing power. Who knew what kind of diseases Stiles could pick up out on the open with what he sincerely hoped was just a scratch and not some gaping wound that the adrenaline kept him from fully feeling.

Erica and Laura, yellow eyes and blue, skirted around them and started digging at the mound to get Peter free and Stiles wasn't actually too keen for a reunion or rematch or whatever it was that would happen when the guy got out so he nudged Derek where he was just going to town on the incredibly sensitive skin on Stiles side.

"Hey, it's kind of cold over here," be barely managed to get out before his wolf-guard whirled behind him and nudged his butt until Stiles stumbled forward toward the flames. "Yeah, yeah," he said, "no need to shove. Oh, come on Grumpy Gus, enough with the whining. I'm cold, not mortally wounded."

He dug his fingers into the thick fur at the nape of Derek's neck and let himself be led back to the radiant warmth where Talia and Rollin were side-by-side wearing identical unreadable expressions and that was probably not a good thing. Maybe? Stiles honestly had no clue. And his fucking side hurt.

"So, uh," he said when they were finally close enough to feel the heat of the fire, which actually made him shiver harder for some reason before he could control the chattering of his teeth enough to speak. "That was okay, right? I won?"

Talia nodded. "You prevailed and your challenger submitted."

Which, yeah, he got that, but it didn't exactly tell me anything new. Beside him, Derek went back to his whole wound care thing, a regular Florence Nightingale except that he was a huge ginger-haired wolf and was making little chuffing noises as he lifted the tattered edge of the shirt with his cold nose so he could get at the cut. Stiles was busy imagining him wearing a little nurses' hat and cape when Talia spoke again and he looked up at her dumbly.

"What? Sorry, I missed that," he said, fighting back a yawn and _shit_. He knew what that meant.

She smiled, though, instead of being mad at him for getting distracted. "I said that the rest of the ritual is for the wolves, and that you and your anchor are welcome to go back inside. Derek, make sure you take good care of your mate, he is a valuable asset to our pack."

Derek made a wolfish noise of agreement and Stiles yawned widely as he waved at Talia and Rollin, already being herded toward the back of the house, but he didn't even get to the porch before there were strong bare arms lifting him and Derek's scruff against his forehead telling him to go to sleep.

  
  


The temperature of the air seemed cooler than the last time they'd been there and Stiles glanced beside where he was sprawled bonelessly in the soft grass, but Derek wasn't there. He turned his head to the other side, but the wolf was wholly absent. He attempted to sit up, and struggled against some unseen weight that served to hold him down.

Stiles made a distressed noise in the back of his throat, a wolf noise, and he felt a burst of concern that wasn't his bloom in his chest, making his breathing erratic as he fought against the panic that startled to bubble up.

And then it came back to him in a rush. He'd challenged, well, had _been challenged by_ and _then_ challenged a werewolf and had somehow, _unbelievingly_ , come out of it relatively unscathed. Well, only marginally scathed, which was a fucking miracle because he was pretty sure that Peter hadn't been holding back all that much. No, his only fault had been that he hasn't taken Stiles' casting ability seriously. Hell, Stiles hadn't taken _himself_ all that seriously at first, either. His breathing was suddenly erratic for a whole different reason. Because _he’d won_.

The panic slowly started to dissipate, but he was still concerned about the whole not-being-able-to-move thing, his being held down by some unseen force and _oh_ , that was maybe Derek, actually. Awake Derek who was in charge of taking care of post-magic Stiles because he turned into a worthless, unconscious meat-sack after he did his lightning trick, and apparently his encase-the-asshole-in-dirt trick, too. Because _holy shit_ , Stiles had _actually done that_. He’d summoned the power of the earth to defend himself and had incapacitated, but probably not really hurt his challenger.

Stiles stopped fighting against probably-Derek and rested back against the plush grass, which was probably, in reality, Derek's bed, and let himself relax. He was safe and warmer than he had been pretty much all evening, and his anchor-

_Mate_ , his traitorous mind supplied.

-his anchor was tending to him and everything was fine.

Well, almost.

Except for the fact that Derek had nearly gotten his ass handed to him by Peter. That was a bit worrying, actually, that Derek had been willing, eager even, to challenge his uncle on Stiles' behalf. Stiles wasn't an idiot, he didn't think that the power of love or whatever they had going on between the two of them would have been enough of a psychological or physiological boost to help Derek win a fight against his uncle, an older and far more experienced werewolf with a penchant for pissing Derek off. The taunts alone would probably have driven the younger guy to distraction, making it easier to take him down.

But whatever, Stiles had somehow prevailed. With the help of his mother.

"Mamulya," he whispered to the pale blue sky. "Spasibo."

Stiles closed his eyes and felt Derek's presence by his side, even though he had yet to join the dream. It was kind of annoying, actually, since he really just wanted to cuddle. Well, that wasn’t the _only_ thing he wanted to do, but the rest could wait.

"Hurry up, slow poke," he said and felt the relieved rush of affection coming from where he assumed Derek was touching his side, no doubt tending to his cut, or maybe cuts, he hadn't actually seen the injury to know for sure how bad it was. Which was fine, really, Stiles was okay with not horking up his dinner over something as trivial as a flesh wound.

He sighed and suddenly there was a line of heat against his other side and when he turned his head Derek was there, real and man-shaped and frowning.

_Shit_.

"No," Stiles whined dramatically, lifting both hands to the other man's face, trying to un-grump his eyebrows. "You can't be mad, this is our happy place. Come _on_ , Derek." He knew he sounded juvenile, but didn’t really care all that much because he had what he wanted, well, except that the other man was clearly in the process of working himself up to a full-blown sulk.

But for one blissful second he seemed to actually be startled out of his brood, but then it came back with vengeance as Derek leaned over Stiles, pinning him to the ground as much by the force of his glare as with the hand pressing his shoulder down against the grass.

"You," Derek said, them he ducked his head against Stiles' neck like he had to pause to collect himself, to breathe in Stiles' scent. "You put yourself in danger," he ground out like the very admission hurt. He felt hurt, Stiles knew, could feel it where they touched, could practically _smell_ it on the other man.

"I accepted Peter's challenge," Stiles said because, really, that's what had happened. "And dude, come on, I totally won!" He didn't bring up the fact that he hadn't even known the whole rank challenge thing had even been a possibility until it had happened and Stiles seriously needed a crash course in werewolfing for dummies.

Derek growled against the side of his throat and Stiles went rigid. That wasn't a sound the man had directed toward him before, certainly not with that degree of anger, which Stiles could feel, of course, because there were no clothes in the dreamscape.

"Is it bad?" he asked cautiously, keeping his hands in the grass as Derek slowly struggled himself together.

The werewolf let out a huff of hot breath that unfurled against Stiles’ neck and if Derek hadn’t been so clearly pissed off he would have maybe tried to steer their interactions in a more pleasing direction, but as it was that didn’t seem to be a possibility. At least not at that moment in time. Finally, the anger started to fade back into concern and Derek nuzzled Stiles throat one last time before he pulled back to stare down at him with a heartbreaking expression of hurt.

“You put yourself in danger,” he repeated. “You wouldn’t let me defend you and you put yourself in danger against the highest ranking wolf in my mother’s pack save for herself and my father.”

Stiles reached up with both of his hands and cupped Derek’s cheeks, relishing in the feel of the scratchy stubble against his palms. “I couldn’t let you take him on,” he said. “I don’t want to see you hurt anymore than you want to see me hurt-”

“But you are,” Derek broke in with a hitched inhale and Stiles felt tears in his own eyes because _he’d done that_ , he’d _hurt_ his anchor. Sure, it wasn’t a physical wound, but it was no less painful for him to endure.

“I’m sorry,” Stiles said, and he was. He was _terribly_ , _horribly_ sorry for being the one responsible for the gut-wrenching worry that filtered through their bond, the worry Derek felt for him and the cut on his side, for the terror he must have felt seeing Stiles being attacked by his uncle and it was _Stiles_ who choked on a sob, drawing Derek’s trembling body down onto him so they could feel and smell each other and know that they were both okay, that they were safe together in each other’s arms in the dreamscape.

“I’m so sorry, Derek,” he said again, not bothering to stifle his cries because if there was one person that wouldn’t judge him for being emotional it was the man who felt every single thing just as keenly as he did.

“You’re safe,” Derek said after he’d cried it out to the point of near exhaustion, which didn’t do anything but make Stiles let out a kind of animal-like laugh that honestly made him sound kind of deranged and somehow served to break the mounting tension between them until even Derek’s shudders had taken on the rhythmic movements of laughter.

It took Stiles a long while to catch his breath and he realized his side didn’t hurt at all. He ran his hand through Derek’s hair and gently tilted it back from where he had been resting it over the scars on Stiles’ chest. “How bad is it, Derek?” he asked quietly, never having gotten an answer the first time around.

Derek’s broody face was back, but he didn’t pull away or shake loose from Stiles’ grip or anything like that. He just kind of pouted for a second before sighing. “Three parallel cuts, all superficial. They’re already healing because I licked them when I was in my wolf form. That’s,” he actually looked, and felt, mildly embarrassed, “that’s something we can do as wolves.”

And huh, Stiles hadn’t been off-base at all about the healing properties of a wolf’s tongue. Well, a werewolf’s tongue. “Just as a wolf?” he asked with a smirk and grinned when Derek rolled his eyes.

“Yes, Stiles, just as a wolf. I swear you think about sex as much as-”

“As much as you do?” Stiles supplied.

Derek snorted and reached up to nip at Stiles’ collarbone. “Yeah, Stiles, as much I do.”

Stiles smiled and bent his neck to capture Derek’s warm lips in a kiss. His side really didn’t hurt at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just spent THE ENTIRE DAY at an agency-wide (33 people-strong) touchy-feely staff meeting where we had to introduce ourself with sock puppets (actually they were just socks, not even puppets), and for fucking serious you guys, I am NOT that kind of a person. I don't go for that kind of silly kitch kind of a thing, it makes me SUPER JUDGEY. Also, we had to do our intros "popcorn style," which means you just say your piece when you feel like it during a natural pause and I AM TOO ANXIOUS/INTROVERTED FOR THAT SHIT. Ugh. THEN we had to do all sorts of self-reflection and team building stuff including touching each other (non-pervy, but still) AND we get another full day of it tomorrow, so I'm kind of grumpy and totally over being surrounded by humans. So yeah, that's me. But okay, so really, I like who I work with and where I work, it's just totally drains my emotional center when I have to put up with so much stimuli for so long without having adequate time to collect myself.  
> Also, cousin got her stitches out today and she's healing well, so that was nice! ^_^


	24. Chapter 24

Stiles grunted and tried to roll away from whatever it was that kept tickling his nose, but the feeling persisted until he finally realized he was being held firmly against something warm and soft and that smelled like Derek.

“‘S too early,” he whined, trying to tuck his head against Derek’s neck, or, rather, where he figured Derek’s neck should be, but there was only empty sheet and hey-

His eyes snapped open and there was Derek, crouched over him with one arm firmly held across Stiles’ chest, his other hand close enough to his face that he had no trouble deducing the source of what had woken him.

“It’s technically too late, not too early,” Derek said with a grin and Stiles smiled back at him because he couldn’t help it, even if he was still tired all the way down to his fucking bones.

“Any particular reason you’re waking me from my much-needed beauty sleep?” Stiles asked, voice sounding a bit slurred.

Derek snorted and ducked down for a quick kiss before he settled back where he was straddling Stiles’ hips and yeah, that was a good position even though they were both wearing boxer briefs. Whatever, Derek could totally shred them if he wanted to. Stiles would probably be able to stay awake long enough for them both to get off. Maybe.

“I figured you didn’t want to wet the bed in the middle of the night,” the werewolf said and Stiles scrunched his nose.

“Ugh, dude, you definitely need to work on your bedroom talk.” Because _really_? _That_ was why Derek had woken him up? The guy could have at least pretended it was for sexy times, or _something_.

But then Derek made a considering face. “You mean you’re _not_ interested in golden showers?” he asked, like they hadn’t already negotiated the fuck out of their respective kinks.

Stiles rolled his eyes. “Har har har. Well, are you going to let me up or not?” he asked kind of feeling peevish over having been woken up for not sexy times, but then again he knew it was for a good reason because he kind of did have to pee so whatever. He wasn’t going to be a brat about it. Well, no more of a brat than he usually was.

"You're moody when you first wake up," Derek observed, but leapt onto the floor beside the bed, then placed one hand on the back of Stiles' neck to help lever him upright, like he _needed_ the help and actually, yeah, he kind of did need the help he quickly realized. His muscles were like over-cooked noodles.

"Fuck," Stiles groaned when he sat up and was momentarily overcome by dizziness, but Derek was there, holding onto him firmly and not letting him fall off the bed or anything stupid like that. "Ugh, magic is no fun after the fact," he decided as he swung his legs over the side and let himself be pulled to his feet. His whole body ached like he'd been tenderized. It was not a pleasant sensation.

"It's supposed to be less draining the more you practice," Derek pointed out as he pretty much carried Stiles over to the bathroom.

He was stupidly thankful it was an ensuite because he didn't think he'd be able to live it down if Erica, or hell, Peter, saw that he’d been reduced to what he imagined it was like to be a crotchety old man. And then when the too-bright light over the mirror came on he realized he kind of looked the part, too. There were dark bags under his eyes and his bare skin was still streaked with dirt except for the clean area around the white bandage slapped to his side, covering his lower ribs and just below.

"I look like shit," he said, not even trying to hide his pout. Compared to the tanned skin of the other man's arms wrapped around his chest to help hold him up, Stiles looked sallow and used and Derek was feeling fucking amused? "Excuse you," Stiles said, glaring at him through the reflection, "Do you find this funny?" he asked, but he could barely put any heat in his voice at all and that sucked just about as much as any of it.

Derek moved closer until his bare chest was completely flush against Stiles' back, then hooked his chin over Stiles' shoulder as their eyes met in the mirror. "I find it funny how put-out you are by your own reflection when you'll feel and look much better in a matter of hours."

Stiles would have rolled his eyes, but that seemed like an awful lot of effort. "Are you saying I'm not sexy like this?" he challenged, just to be an ass.

It was pretty clear Derek was struggling to hold back a smile and he eventually tucked his head against Stiles' neck and, with a raised eyebrow, sucked a mean hicky on the sensitive skin there.

He gasped at the sensation, the already achingly tender skin sending zings of pleasurable pain through him and he shuddered under the assault, his hands shaking where they clutched the countertop for balance or to ground him or _something_. "Fucker," he breathed as Derek licked the spot one last time and pulled back to admire his handiwork. The mark was a livid red, stark against the almost white of Stiles' blanched skin. "You're giving me a scarf to wear when I go home," he informed the other man, shakily. "And then you can explain to my dad why I have to use his freezer spoons."

Derek gave an amused huff and gently guided Stiles over to the toilet because yeah, that was actually why they'd come to the bathroom in the first place. "You going to hold my dick for me, too?" Stiles snarked, mostly because he was feeling pretty awkward about the whole thing and didn't quite know how to handle it.

The other man hummed and hooked his chin back over Stiles' shoulder like he was considering it. "When I touch your dick it's not going to be so I can help you pee," he said casually, and then _watched Stiles pee_ , like that was totally fucking normal behavior.

Granted, Stiles had no problem peeing in front of Derek for some reason, which was weird because while he wasn't exactly pee-shy, he wasn't a whip-it-out-and-go-while-someone-watched kind of a guy, either. He wasn’t really an exhibitionist, his penchant for women’s clothing aside. And really, that was just a personal fashion preference because dresses were really comfortable and made him feel pretty. He was known to go on a cleaning spree in a skirt. Whatever.

But the whole Derek watching him thing? _That_ was weird.

"This is weird,” Stiles said as he shook off and tucked himself back in. His hands were starting to tremble harder as another wave of exhaustion started to bowl through him.

" _We_ are kind of weird," he heard Derek agree before gravity seemed to stop working and he closed his eyes against the spin.

  
  


The field was warmer that time and Derek was once again laying by his side with a gentle expression on his face.

"You're secretly a romantic sap, aren't you?" Stiles asked, fighting back a grin. He had his suspicions about the other man and was stupidly eager to prove his theory right.

Derek rolled his eyes, then focused on where his hand was sliding across the smooth skin of Stiles' torso.

"Are you going to sing to me?” Stiles asked, “I feel like it's your turn. You know, since I sang to you last time."

He snorted and moved his hand up to Stiles' neck, pressing gently against the mark he'd put there and Stiles sucked in a ragged breath at the delicious jolt that produced.

"Fuck, Derek," Stiles said reaching for the man's face with both hands, pulling him closer so they could kiss.

Derek didn't make him work too hard for it, and leaned up on one elbow, the other hand cradling Stiles' head as he parted his lips so their tongues could caress and Stiles didn't even bother to stifle his throaty moan.

When they finally pulled back he was panting, but Derek wasn’t because _of course_ he wasn’t. “Do you want me to sing to you?” he asked quietly, the bond telling Stiles he was feeling apprehensive but also kind of intrigued.

Stiles _wanted_ for them to both have orgasms, but he was willing to be patient. “I want you to sing if you want to,” he replied, grinning when Derek rolled his eyes because he probably thought Stiles’ answer was stupid.

But then Derek leaned down again and kissed him with a tender kind of affection that made Stiles’ toes curl against the soft grass. When Derek pulled back, he was full of calm confidence, and it was a very good look on him. “Let’s see if you recognize this,” he said, then rolled them so he was spooning Stiles, mindful of the wound, and it was almost like he didn’t want to be seen when he sang and okay, Stiles could deal with that.

“This magic moment, so different and so new,” Derek sang, his voice a rich baritone and Stiles was kind of glad the other man couldn’t see him because he was making a ridiculously excited face, totally floored by his anchor’s hidden talent. He was _good_. “Was like any other, until I kissed you,” Derek sang and then kissed the nape of Stiles’ neck and he couldn’t hold back a wiggle at that because _seriously_? That was sappy as fuck and adorable and _holy shit_ Stiles was head over ass for the stupid werewolf.

“And then it happened,” Derek continued, lowering his voice like he was imparting some kind of secret and Stiles stilled because he couldn’t _not_ listen with rapt attention, “it took me by surprise. I knew that you felt it, too.” And yes, Stiles had. He was feeling it, the energy they generated when they were together. “By the look in your eyes,” Derek sang and Stiles closed his, kind of wishing he could see the other man’s beta blue or his impossible brown-blue-green whatever the hell color they were because either way he just wanted to stare into his eyes always and yeah, he’d fallen pretty hard.

Derek’s hand splayed low across Stiles’ stomach, pressing him back against Derek’s taut body and Stiles wasn’t the only one aroused by the singing. “Sweeter than wine,” the words ghosted across the shell of Stiles’ ear and he shuddered, “softer than the summer night. Everything I want I have, whenever I hold you tight,” and that was enough of _that_.

Stiles opened his eyes and twisted in Derek’s grip, seizing his surprised face and kissing him, trying to imbue as much of his emotion as he could into the action and _yeah_ , he thought he’d succeeded because Derek _mewled_ against his lips and then there was a clash of tongues and teeth and a flash of bright blue eyes and Stiles was pressed back against the soft grass so Derek could kiss down his neck and chest and being in their dreamscape was awesome because no clothes but _fuck_.

“Wait,” Stiles said, lacing his fingers through Derek’s hair with a spike of regret because while he was quite willing to see what the man wanted to do to Stiles’ dick, he also wanted to be mindful of the aftermath. And it really sucked being pragmatic, sometimes.

Derek, being Derek, stopped immediately, his expression raw with concern and his eyes were instantly drawn to Stiles’ side where, hey, there were three red scabs etched into his skin. _Huh_. It was weird because he couldn’t _feel_ it and _oh_.

“It’s not that, Derek,” Stiles assured him, “I’m okay, and you sing like a fucking angel which is unfortunate because I’m never going to be able to share that little secret with anyone ever because then they’d just be beating down the door trying to get you to join a boy band or something. You’re that hot you fucker.”

That startled a laugh out of Derek and he muffled it against Stiles’ stomach, hot breath ghosting across the coarse trail of hair there and it made him want to moan, but he didn’t because he hadn’t finished talking. Well, he pretty much _never_ finished talking, but he hadn’t finished making his point which was important. If he could remember what it was.

_Shit_.

Derek looked up at him expectantly and slowly began nipping at the him and _oh yeah_.

“Jesus, Derek,” he breathed as he wiggled beneath the onslaught, the other man’s teeth a little too sharp to be human and another gut punch of arousal swept through him. “Fuck,” he breathed, fingers tightening in Derek’s dark hair and he didn’t miss the way his pupils dilated at that. Hair pulling. That was a thing. But he had to _focus_. “Stop distracting me, jackass,” he warned, but the fingers of his other hand were busy sliding across Derek’s chiseled features because he just couldn’t get enough of them.

Fuck. _Right_.

“I thought we weren’t going to fuck in your room because of werewolves and stuff,” Stiles said, scratching gently at the rough stubble on Derek’s cheek and reveling in how the man just seemed to melt at that, sighing and closing his eyes as he sank down on top of Stiles’ legs.

“They’re running and will be for another few hours,” Derek said huskily.

His fucking _voice_.

Stiles was definitely never telling anyone about the serenading. Ever. The guy was pretty much perfect. It was annoying and unfathomably hot.

“So you’re going to fuck me, right?” Stiles asked, needing that kind of verbal communication to happen so he could get the figurative ball rolling. Maybe the literal balls, too, but one step at a time.

Derek glanced up at him and frowned slightly. “But you’re hurt,” he said, watching as his own hand slowly tracked over Stiles’ abs to the tender cuts. They didn’t actually hurt, really, but too much movement would probably open the cuts again and then he’d be faced with Derek’s extremely pouty face and that was never a good thing.

He bit his lip and was very much aware of how his dick was trapped under Derek’s firm chest and he just wanted to have sex and _oh_ , they’d talked about that at length, actually.

“What if you do all the moving?” Stiles asked softly. They had talked about it, but actually proposing what they’d negotiated was a whole different animal than just discussing the different things they were theoretically comfortable with doing.

Derek got it though and suddenly he was surging up Stiles’ body, straddling him like he had been when he’d woken Stiles up to use the bathroom, and then he realized there was a problem.

“Fuck, we don’t have lube,” he said with a put-out sigh. “And dude, I’m not fucking you raw, that’s not happening.”

The other man whined against where he was busy sucking more hickies onto Stiles’ neck and while that felt pretty fucking awesome, it did not solve the problem at hand. He didn’t pull back until Stiles forced him to meet his eyes.

“I’m serious, Derek, I would love for you to ride me, but I refuse to hurt you.”

Derek had a full pout going on and it took a lot for Stiles not to squee at how cute it was. “You rode me in a dream,” Derek reminded him and yeah, Stiles had kind of hoped that the other man wasn’t going to bring that up, but there it was. “And we just used spit and come as lube, then.”

Stiles was so hard it hurt, just from the singing and the hickies and Derek, eager and equally hard. “Fuck,” he breathed and threw his arms against the grass and snatched his left hand back when it hit something there. He turned to look and gave a startled laugh because it was definitely an unopened bottle of lube.

“Guess you’re going to fuck me after all,” Derek said with a wicked smirk and Stiles narrowed his eyes.

“Did you do that?” he asked, suspicious, but not that suspicious because he was already popping it open and squirting some of the high end stuff onto his fingers. It wasn’t a brand Stiles had ever used, mostly because he hadn’t wanted to throw down that kind of cash for it, but yeah, he’d definitely been missing out. “Whatever,” he decided, since Derek didn’t seem to be willing to answer, anyway, “I’m going to prep you, and then you’re going to ride me until you come. Is that okay with you?”

Derek grinned, human teeth and eyes and he was so devastatingly gorgeous against the pale blue backdrop of the sky. “Ten four,” he replied and Stiles fought the urge to roll his eyes.

“You’re such a cop,” Stiles said, breaking into a smile as he circled one finger around Derek’s clenched hole and reveling in the shuddered breath the other man gave. “But right now you’re here with me, and I’m going to come inside of you, if that’s okay.”

It was, according to their earlier discussion, but they’d both agreed that any kinks could be renegotiated at any time, even during sex because that kind of openness was a vital part of keeping everyone satiated.

The other man nodded and he slipped his finger past the tight ring of muscle and Derek gasped, his hands coming up to grasp Stiles’ shoulders, pressing him down against the soft ground. It was a bit of an awkward angle for his wrist, but he worked with it, resting the back of his hand on his thigh and using that to hold it up as he pushed in deeper, mindful of the slowly loosening clench. Derek was trying to accommodate him and he ran his other hand up and down the man’s thigh.

“You’re so tight,” he whispered because it was suddenly a space for quiet words and Derek’s breathy gasps and cut-off moans. “You feel so good,” Stiles said, squeezing the tense muscle by his hip and Derek suddenly relaxed, both internally and externally, slumping a bit over Stiles and he took the opportunity to slip in another finger, closing his eyes at the delicious, fluttering tension. “Yes, that’s it, let me in, Derek, You’re so good,” he murmured, resuming his other hand’s gentle caressing, running his hand up and down the other man’s insane muscles as he worked his fingers inside, finding a gentle rhythm Derek seemed to respond to, if his cut-off keening was any indication.

_Fuck_ he was _responsive_.

“More,” Derek grunted out after he’d begun rocking back against Stiles’ hand, his arms trembling where he was still holding him down by the shoulders, and Stiles obliged as he carefully worked in a third, stilling when Derek did, allowing the man to talk his own body into loosening up enough to allow the stretch.

Finally, Derek gave a shuddered breath and continued his steady rhythm and if their positions had been reversed Stiles was pretty sure he’d have been an uncoordinated mess by that point. It actually kind of shocked him that he hadn’t just started humping the other man’s leg, his dick was so hard it was leaking precome that had begun to pool just under his belly button. Derek’s dick was equally hard and Stiles couldn’t resist sliding his free hand down the man’s pecks and abs and side, then up his thigh until he could massage his balls, but he kept his hand from Derek’s cock because he didn’t want to risk him coming quite yet.

Derek gave a punched-out little grunt and rocked back harder onto Stiles’ hand and he really needed to not have his wrist broken in a sex-related manner or else he’d never live it down. Ever. Scott certainly wouldn’t ever let him forget it. Well, he might actually be too mortified by the whole thing to actually mock Stiles about it, so that wasn’t completely terrible, except that his wrist would be broken and fuck Derek was making some amazing noises.

“You good?” Stiles asked, voice sounding about as wrecked as the other man looked, his pupils dilated almost fully, hair askew from where Stiles had been tugging it and a flush working it’s way across his cheeks to his ears.

Derek opened and closed his mouth, but the only sound he made were these hungry little noises so he finally just nodded quickly and Stiles couldn’t help but smile softly up at him, a bit teasingly because _he’d done that_. “Do you want me to fuck you, Derek?” he asked even though he knew he was being just a bit cruel.

In answer Derek surged down to capture his lips in a bruising kiss canting his hips up so Stiles’ fingers slipped out of him and then he whimpered against Stiles’ lips like he’d been the one who had made the man move.

“Okay, okay, shh,” Stiles soothed, blindly grabbing at the lube and squirting it directly onto his dick because he didn’t have fucking time to waste and the sudden shock of, not cold, but not quite room temperature, either, was probably the only thing that kept him from shooting off immediately as Derek sank down onto his cock with a steady push. It was a bit faster than Stiles would have gone had he any real control over the speed, but whatever, the noises it pulled from Derek were well worth the slight discomfort.

“Fuck, Derek,” Stiles grunted out as he dug his head and heels against the grass because they were the only parts of him he really had that much control over since his hands had seized Derek’s hips at some point and, “fuck you’re tight,” he finished because yeah, it was the perfect kind of squeeze.

Derek was beyond words, though, utterly taken by the moment, exuding pure carnal pleasure as he lifted up until only the head of Stiles’ cock was inside of him before he dropped down with an animal-like keen. He had to gather himself for a second after that, what little Stiles could make out of his pupils were that vibrant blue and his fangs had dropped, but his hands, pressed against Stiles’ chest, were thankfully claw-free. He quickly recovered, though, and found a steady rhythm as he fucked himself on Stiles dick like they’d done it a hundred times before, every single drag of skin and clench of flesh just perfect.

But Stiles really couldn’t keep his words to himself so he started a kind of stream of consciousness babble that ranged from describing, in detail, every single thing about Derek that made Stiles hard, it was a long list, to how he was seriously considering buying the guy a gag because he was the only one who should ever hear Derek’s singing voice and yeah, that was kind of a weird one to admit out loud, but Derek had panted at that, actually _panted_ , and he’d bent down even though it was kind of an awkward angle and kissed Stiles until he was panting, too, dizzy from it and then Derek had gone back to fucking himself on Stiles’ dick and everything was just a mixture of their moans and heavy breathing and uneven voices as they both confessed half a dozen silly and meaningful things to each other until they came from it, sweating and shaking and calling out each other’s names.

It took a long while, but Derek finally moved, Stiles’ soft dick slipping out of him along with a little rush of come and for some reason Stiles had the urge to push it back inside of him, to keep it there to mark him and _oh_.

“You can mark someone with your come, can’t you?” Stiles asked, voice wrecked from, yeah, he’d been yelling. Derek’s name, probably, since he could still hear it echoing in his ears. Well, he could hear his own name, too, so he figured he hadn’t been the only one shouting.

Derek grunted and nuzzled his nose against Stiles’ neck where he was breathing heavily and slick with sweat. His hand was on Stiles’ stomach, which was splattered with his come and he was pretty sure the other man was rubbing it into his skin. He was also pretty sure he didn’t give any fucks at all.

Stiles closed his eyes with a smile and rolled onto his side so they could face each other, throwing an arm and leg over Derek with a content sigh. “You’re amazing,” he said softly pressing his palm against where he knew the whirled tattoo was on Derek’s back. “I can’t believe you’re mine,” he said quietly, and kissed the other man on the forehead.

He wasn’t certain, but he thought he heard Derek reply, “Yours,” before he fell into an exhausted sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Storytime:  
> Interesting fact! When a patient has a cut/wound, it needs to be stitched up within eleven hours to make sure it will heal properly, etc. (I'm going by the rules for when my mom was in med school dealing with a certain kind of patient, here). So when irate/high/insane violent criminals would come to the ER stinking of pepper spray and covered in dog bites from the K9 units, my mom would check on them first and if they were acting like assholes (you know because most were on ALL THE DRUGS), she would nod the guard and walk on out the door and come back ten hours and forty five minutes later to find a changed man handcuffed to the bed. They'd often apologize for being disrespectful and be meek as lambs when she sewed them up. Her other favorite thing to do was tell them not to touch their bits when they first came in (freshly pepper sprayed and acting like psychopaths) and they almost always stuck their hands right on down their pants and then screamed like they'd been castrated, you know, because it felt like they had been. My mom is kind of evil. I like it.
> 
> Contemplating actually answering questions in my tumblr FAQ (what a novel concept, Raving!), so if you have any inquiries feel free to ask in the comments below! I'll be including what my writing process is and how I keep to my posting schedule along with...idk...thoughts?
> 
> The song Derek sings is "This Magic Moment" by the Drifters.


	25. Chapter 25

He woke again to movement and hushed voices, but as soon as he realized it was Derek carrying him he didn’t even care where, Stiles drifted back to sleep and didn't give a shit as to what that had been about.

Until he woke again feeling overheated and sweaty and _surrounded_ by skin. Too much skin to belong to just Derek and _what_?

“Wha’s at?” he asked muzzly, totally disoriented in the darkness of wherever they were and the feel of it reminded him a lot of Derek’s obscenely gigantic bed in Chicago and huh, that might actually be what was going on.

A hand, Derek’s, soothed along his arm as he gave that low-rumbling purr. “Pack scenting,” he said quietly and his voice sounded kind of blissed out, actually, which was adorable, but also kind of weird because Stiles hadn’t really been told about that kind of a thing happening. Well, not in so many words, though the post-Thanksgiving slumber party suddenly made a hell of a lot more sense.

“Told you no golden showers,” Stiles said because he could and the body behind him trembled with a silent laugh. Well, sort of silent, the room or space or wherever they were was filled with what Stiles thought of as little wolf noises; chuffs and grunts and low werewolf purring along with the expected heavy breathing of people asleep. All of which was coming from behind him except for Derek’s quiet grunt that he could feel where his face was pressed against the guy’s chest because Stiles was sprawled half on top of him and that was ridiculously comfortable.

“You’re the worst,” Derek pouted. Well, it sounded like he was pouting, but Stiles couldn’t be sure since he couldn’t actually see anything in the pitch black of the room.

The body behind him shifted again and he felt someone’s stubble on the skin against the tender skin on the back of his arm and Stiles instantly tensed because there was _no way in hell_ he was letting Peter _The Creeper_ Hale lurk in such a vulnerable spot, especially not when Stiles was basically blind.

“Go back to sleep boys,” a deep voice said and Stiles realized it was _Rollin_ who was laid out at his back and that was a fucking relief. Stiles slowly relaxed as he buried his face tucked against Derek’s neck, and even though it should have been pretty weird cuddling with his lover and the guy's father, it really wasn't.

The room was still stuffy and over-warm, but for some reason he didn’t have any trouble going back to sleep after that.

  
  


“Someone get Stiles’ phone it’s annoying,” Erica grunted, then after a second she grunted again and then it sounded like she rolled off the bed, padding across the floor and then he couldn’t hear her anymore so she’d probably gone to Derek’s room to fetch it.

“M’ phone?” Stiles mumbled against someone’s skin. Derek’s, he thought, but didn’t bother to check for sure. Beneath him the chest rumbled in affirmation.

Yep, it was definitely Derek.

“It’s been going off for the past half hour,” Laura said with a strained voice somewhere behind him, like she was stretching. And _that_ was an awesome idea.

Stiles carefully slid his hands up, apparently across Derek's torso and stubble and smiling lips to his hair and then into blank space, his legs stretching down where they lay on top of Derek’s until he pointed his toes and enjoyed the burn of his taut muscles as he balanced on top of the other man.

Something hard smacked the small of his back and he flinched at the cold feeling plastic.

"Don't be an ass, Erica," Talia warned from somewhere beside them as Stiles bent his arm awkwardly to get to his phone which was in a weird, unreachable spot because of course it was. He finally pried open his eyes when he felt Derek shift beneath him and paw at his back until he got the cell and thrust it into one of Stiles' hands. The other man looked hilariously unkempt, his hair oddly flattened in some places and sticking up comically in others as he blinked kind of owlishly up at Stiles. He somehow managed to fight back a laugh, but it was a near thing and there was no way he could keep his smile to himself.

"Call whoever keeps trying to get ahold of you," Erica said as she flounced onto the bed somewhere over where Rollin had been the night before, but he didn’t look over at them because Derek was spread out underneath him looking sleepy and not quite with it yet, which was a far cry from the revved exerciser he’d woken up to in the past. Not that they’d slept in the same bed all that often, but still.

"Yeah," Laura echoed, sounding almost stoned, "today's totally a sleeping day, not a vibrating phone day."

Stiles breathed out a laugh as he tucked his head against Derek's chest and he couldn't believe how perfectly they fit together. Hips flush, stomachs pressed firmly against each other, just, it was kind of beautiful, and Derek was pleasantly warm in the cool of the room and yeah, Erica had definitely opened the window when she'd gotten up. He finally glanced around and had his suspicions confirmed. The bed was massive, just like Derek's had been in Chicago and it was covered in sprawling bodies. Laura and Erica were curled up around Peter at the far end of the bed while Talia was on Rollin's other side, eyes open as she silently watched Stiles look around at the pale blue walls and the gray, pulled-back curtains flanking two large windows that were indeed open and letting in the brisk winter air.

Stiles was tempted to just rest his head back against Derek's shoulder and drift back to sleep, but then the forgotten phone in his hand gave a continuous buzz and he frowned at it because it was his dad calling. He slid off Derek so he could sit up at the edge of the bed, his legs tucked under him so he wouldn't have to feel the cold of the hardwood floor. He let out a breath and accepted the call.

“Stiles,” his dad said, and his name alone made him sit up straighter because that tone was the one he reserved for telling people bad news. He hated his dad’s bad news voice.

“Dad?” He was vaguely aware of a lot of shushing going on behind him, but the only thing he could really focus on other than the conversation at hand was Derek’s warm presence suddenly at his side and the arm slung firmly over his shoulder so he had no choice but to lean into the firm embrace.

His dad took a deep breath, like he was gearing up for something and Stiles bit his lip because _that_ was even _worse_ than his bad news voice. Finally, “Stiles, have you seen or heard from Scott since he visited you yesterday?”

And _what_?

“What? No, why? Is he okay?” And that was stupid because of course Scott was okay. Stiles was probably just reading too much into the conversation and he slumped a bit and he realized his side didn’t hurt at all. He glanced down and it was still covered in the bandage, though, so he didn’t know the extent of the damage besides what he’d seen in the dream, which actually hadn’t looked or felt all that bad. He wondered how much effort it would take to convince Derek to let him take it off.

“We don’t know,” his dad admitted reluctantly and Stiles’ brows furrowed.

“What the hell does that mean? You’re not seriously telling me I’m the last person to have seen him, are you? That’s,” that was crazy, “that’s crazy.” And so was the fact that Derek had gone rigid beside him and he could hear the beginnings of a low-grade growl coming from the bed behind him and _no_. “No way. That’s, have you checked with Allison?” Of course Allison would clear it up for everyone. They were being irrational. Scott was _fine_.

“She was the one who called Melissa,” his dad said and woah, that probably meant he’d been with Melissa at the time the call had come in and _that_ wasn’t something Stiles was going to think about.

“Deaton, then,” Stiles said quickly because Scott was known for getting a bit lost in his work, sometimes, especially when there was an animal emergency of some sort. Or a new litter of puppies. Granted, Stiles had maybe fallen asleep in a puppy pile a time or two and very much not comparing those situations to the Hale’s penchant for cuddling together in comically oversized beds because. No dog jokes. Stiles had made himself promise he wouldn’t go for that particular low-hanging fruit.

His dad let out a controlled breath, which was even worse than the bad news voice and him taking a deep breath _combined_. It meant the shit was really hitting the fan. “Deaton hasn’t seen him, either, and his phone is turned off.”

And fucking hell Scott was missing.

“Scott’s missing,” he said, incredulous and on the verge of starting to panic, but he was too stunned to really gear up to that quite yet. “You’re telling me that Scott’s missing and that no one has seen him since early afternoon yesterday.” And _fuck_ it hadn’t even been long enough for an official report to be filed, yet, so the fact that his dad was calling him sent up all kinds of red flags.

“That’s what I’m telling you,” his dad reiterated quietly, his voice gentle because he knew Stiles was probably going to react stupidly.

But Derek was there, and took the phone from him before he could start shouting into it or demanding that his dad find Scott _right that second_ even though he knew there wasn’t anything the department could do quite yet and-

“Sheriff,” Derek said calmly, his other arm tight around Stiles to restrain him as much as to comfort him and he just gave a half-hearted wiggle against the solid muscles before he found himself pressing even closer to the other man like his brain was too scrambled to know what it actually wanted.

Derek listened for a few seconds, his thumb rubbing gentle circles just above the waistband of Stiles’ boxer briefs before he spoke again. “My family will help in the search. Yes, I understand. Yes, we will let you know. Thank you. I’ll tell him.”

He hung up the phone and Stiles pressed his face against the soft skin of Derek’s chest. “You don’t have to tell me, I know,” he said because he did. He knew the exact words his dad always said when shit started to hit the fan and while it actually made him laugh, sometimes, he wasn’t in the mood to hear it. Besides, he had no idea what he _could_ do to help out his friend, except-

No. He wasn’t even sure where he could begin with the magic stuff. He’d only ever used it as a kind of reactionary thing, but Deaton and the other emissary and Cassandra had all figured out Stiles was whatever he was, _a spark_ , using what looked to be some kind of spells so if Stiles got the right resources, like the candle and mountain ash and herbs his mom had hidden away in that dresser then he might be able to-

“Don’t do anything stupid,” Derek cautioned him, anyway, like he knew Stiles was plotting and he probably _did_ because Stiles had a tendency to grow unnaturally quiet when he was planning things. It was his tell.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said levelly and behind them Laura groaned.

“You’re the worst liar, Stilinski,” she said, but her voice was muffled against something, which was probably skin because he hadn’t seen any pillows.

“We’re going to help our packmate find his friend,” Talia said evenly, and there were no protests.

Stiles glanced over his shoulder and watched her rise to sit. She was wearing a silky-looking camisole and shorts and it was so weird to see people he wasn’t intimate with in what amounted to their underwear, but that was because of social constructs, he knew. Society had conditioned him to think of scantily clad people in a sexual manner, but there wasn’t anything at all sexual about the pack cuddling session slash scenting thing they had going on. Well, besides the suspicious-looking crust on his stomach from his earlier activities with Derek and woah, Stiles wasn’t entirely sure that had been a dreamscape only kind of a deal. He wondered if he’d _actually had sex_ with Derek in real life, or if it was more of just a shared wet-dream.

_So many questions_.

Awkward ones he wasn’t entirely eager to ask Deaton for clarification about because. Just. No. The other alternative was talking it out with Derek and Stiles somehow didn’t think that would lead to constructive conversation because he was fairly certain the pants would come off pretty rapidly if they were in private, which was the only way he’d want to talk about that kind of intimate stuff in the first place. So, yeah. No.

“You’re all going to help?” Stiles asked dumbly, brain catching up with what Talia had said and the fact that no one had argued. He really wasn’t all that sharp when he first woke up and hadn’t yet eaten and-

“Of course dumbass,” Erica said, crawling awkwardly over Peter, nailing him in the stomach with her knee because she was the actual best, and then kind of flopping on top of Laura and smooshing her face with both hands. “Come on, Laur-rawr, get up we’ve gotta shower and get dressed and make breakfast and shit so we can find Stiles’ best friend five-eva.”

And she was also kind of the worst.

“Scott wouldn’t skip town or anything like that,” Stiles said before anyone could suggest it, tapping into the deep well of his protectiveness and devotion he had for the guy. They were brothers, despite their biology and he knew at a cellular level that Scott would _never_ do something that horrible, not after what his asshole dad had done to him and Melissa. “He especially wouldn’t willingly disappear now that Allison’s pregnant,” he added and Talia’s eyebrows rose in interest as Rollin sat up slowly at her side, his silk boxers matched the deep blue of her outfit and Stiles thought that was pretty awesome, really. He scratched his salt-and-pepper stubble with a considering look. Also, the guy was as stacked as Derek and besides the slight graying going on he didn’t really look old enough to have adult children. Neither did Talia, really. Stupid ridiculous werewolf genes.

“I take it Allison is Scott’s partner?” Rollin asked quietly.

Stiles nodded. “His wife, they’ve been together since high school and I should probably call her?”

“She’s an Argent,” Derek said and the mood of the room changed abruptly as the werewolves, except for Talia and Derek, tensed like there was a hunter right at their door or something.

“The Argents in Beacon Hills have given up their previous occupation,” she said mildly and slid her hand along her husband’s bare calf in a gentle kind of touch that actually put Stiles at ease a bit, especially when Derek’s hand slid up and splayed over the center of his chest in a move that served to cover some of his scars, not that anyone could see them with how he was twisted away from them at kind of a weird angle, but he still appreciated the gesture.

“Or you could wait to call her until after breakfast,” Peter proposed, the first thing Stiles had heard him say since his challenge the night before. He was stretched out shirtless and almost as ripped as Derek and Rollin, but not quite.

At least Stiles refused to admit it even if he was because he could be as petty as he wanted in his own mind. And he wanted to immediately refuse on principle, but then again it was probably good advice, as loathe as he was to admit it. Stiles really wasn’t fully operational until after he’d been fed.

“Yeah,” he said slowly, and Derek’s hand pressed comfortably over his heart.

  
  


It turned out the Hales had a thing for water conservation, so after Laura and Erica had taken their turn in their own shower down the hall, Derek dragged Stiles into his and stripped them both, carefully peeling back the medical tape from his skin to reveal pretty much the same thing Stiles had seen in their dream. Once he was satisfied Stiles wasn’t in any pain, he wasn’t, Derek adjusted the temperature so it was just right, then shoved him under the spray. He soaped them both up with his scentless body wash, careful of the tender scabs on Stiles’ side that were actually healing far more quickly than what he’d expected, then let Stiles give him a shampoo bubble mohawk, and then quickly rinsed them both off and handed Stiles a towel before he stepped out of the tub and started drying himself off.

“What, that’s it?” he couldn’t help but ask because _really_? They were both naked. And wet. It was incredibly sexy. Also, Stiles _still_ hadn’t gotten his shower sex.

Derek turned, clearly unashamed of his body, which yeah, he damn well shouldn’t be ashamed of his physique, and cocked an eyebrow. “Right now? In a house full of werewolves.”

_Damnit_. He had a point.

Stiles pouted anyway, though because he couldn’t not react to seeing the other man naked and glistening and Derek’s eyes flashed blue before he was pressed up against Stiles, both of their towels slipping to the floor as they kissed.

“Not like they’re listening, right?” Stiles whispered before he nipped down the side of Derek’s neck to the mark he’d left there and yeah, that was even better, especially when the other man shuddered.

But then Derek was tensing in his arms and carefully pushing Stiles back with a definite look of regret on his face, and a blush. That probably wasn’t good.

“Peter says he’s listening,” Derek said with a growl in his voice, then he made a disgusted face, “and so are Laura and Erica.”

“Ew, gross,” Stiles said and that was the end of _that_. “Dude, that’s totally not cool, I think I need some brain bleach or something for that. Seriously? Ugh.”

They dried off and moved around each other to do their morning routines as best they could without either having all of their normal toiletries or even clothes, though Derek managed to dig out boxer briefs for the both of them, Stiles’ hanging low on his hips there may have been some more kissing involved before there was knock at the door followed by Rollin’s voice informing them that they better hurry up if they wanted breakfast.

Stiles ended up wearing one of Derek’s shirts, which made the werewolf grunt in satisfaction so Stiles assumed that was some kind of a scent thing, or maybe even a mate thing or both, and his own jeans from the day before. Derek actually wore a pair of dark jeans he’d dug from the duffle bag that hugged his ass so nicely Stiles couldn’t keep his hands to himself until Derek had to bat him away with an amused smirk as he pulled on a henley and then wrapped his arms around Stiles to silence his playful whining with a deep kiss.

Their breakfast was a bit cold and Erica gave them dirty looks for being late, but the make-out session was totally worth it. Even though Peter looked pretty damn pleased with himself as he very obviously sniffed the air and wow, being a werewolf made the guy even creepier than he would have been, otherwise.

And really Stiles was doing pretty good until he finished his eggs and suddenly remembered that his best friend was actually missing and then his stomach felt like it had turned into a ball of lead and he thought he might possibly throw up.

“Stiles,” Derek said firmly, placing a hand on his wrist so their skin touched and he could feel Derek’s resolve. “We’re going to find Scott, okay?”

“But you don’t even like him,” he protested as if that had any bearing on the conversation at hand or anything at all really and Stiles was very much freaked out and not processing things with his normal speed and detachment.

“You’re pack,” Laura leaned up from Derek’s other side and gave a shrug, “That means your priorities become our priorities. If you’re worried about your friend, then we’re worried about him, too.”

And the way they said it seemed so simple. Like they didn’t even need any kind of explanation or to talk it out or debate or argue or anything and that was pretty unfamiliar ground, actually. He looked around and suddenly noticed that Rollin was missing and he frowned because he’d been so wrapped up in his own distractions and drama that he hadn’t even noticed the guy’s absence, but couldn’t actually remember him being at the table at all during the meal.

“My mate is checking with Deaton about possibly utilizing a location spell to find your friend,” Talia said from the head of the table and Stiles nodded in silent thanks. That meant he wasn’t going to have to try to figure out how to do it himself, which would have undoubtedly put him out of commission for an indeterminate period of time because magic wasn’t actually conducive to an awake and alert Stiles. And wait.

He narrowed his eyes and glanced around at the others who were picking at whatever was left on their plates like they were waiting for permission before they left the table and yeah, there was some definite alpha-ing going on.

“So,” he said slowly, looking back at Talia, who wasn’t even pretending to be doing anything other than watching him. Beside him Derek was still holding loosely onto his wrist, conveying his quiet confidence. “Uh, have you guys done stuff like this before? Found missing people?”

She shrugged elegantly because he couldn’t imagine her not being elegant, especially since she seemed to rock whatever she was wearing, in that case another dress, which was kind of loose and looked to be woven from natural fibers. “We do what we must to promote harmony in our pack.”

It was kind of a weird answer, but Stiles was pretty sure it was the only one he was going to get so he took a sip of juice and bumped his knee against Derek’s and enjoyed the rush of the man’s affection. They’d find Scott and everything would be fine.

He hoped.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...I don't know...I added a FAQ to my tumblr?
> 
> Poor Scotty :(


	26. Chapter 26

Derek and Stiles were in charge of the post-breakfast cleanup and Stiles just kind of let Derek tell him what to do, which turned out to be the dishes. And that was actually great because Stiles was awesome at cleaning stuff when he was stressed out. Like he was at that moment because he couldn’t help but think about what had happened to his best friend and the implications of it all.

Because really, as far as he was concerned there were only two possibilities. The first was that Scott had somehow taken a wrong turn on his way home from Stiles’ house and gone off the road and was hurt somewhere in a ditch, and the second was that he’d been kidnapped. Either way, it sucked. It sucked so hard Stiles wasn’t even sure how he was still able to function at all with that reality hanging over his head, but he persevered in his mental deliberations because that’s what he did. He thought about shit until he was on the verge of mental and sometimes physical collapse. He was an obsessor.

Now, the former possibility was a gut-wrenching thought that made him want to throw the scrub brush into the sudsy water and go careening down the road in search of his best friend because he could be hurt or unconscious or, or hurt. Stiles wasn’t able to think of any other potentialities because _no_. So, yeah, Scott could have gotten lost, which wasn’t entirely outside the range of possibilities because he had a tendency to be just a bit scattered at times, though Stiles really wasn’t buying really that because the guy had lived in Beacon Hills for his entire life and even though he no longer lived at his childhood home, his house with Allison was just down the street from it and so him losing his way during the two mile drive from Stiles’ place would mean he’d suffered some kind of traumatic brain injury. And if that were the case he would have been in the hospital and Melissa would be taking care of him. Stiles bit his lip as he attacked the frying pan with perhaps more aggression than necessary because the second option? That was way worse.

Stiles didn’t want to think about his best friend being kidnapped. That was. That was prime panic attack territory right there. And while it was incredibly hard to think objectively about Scott being in danger he knew it was actually a greater possibility than the first, which would have sounded profoundly stupid to him a week earlier, but his life had gotten pretty damn complicated since then and it kind of made sense. Maybe.

“Do you think he was kidnapped?” he asked Derek quietly because he couldn’t not, and he wanted to hear the other man’s opinion before he started down his own deteriorating path of mental instability he was known to get stuck on when he was freaked the fuck out about someone he loved.

Derek glanced over at him from where he was bringing the rest of the dishes from the dining room and his look alone told Stiles that was exactly what he thought had happened.

“Shit,” he breathed, then turned back to the sink, but the water suddenly seemed especially wet and everything was kind of blurred and yeah, Stiles was crying in his lover’s family’s kitchen while doing the dishes because he was actually pathetic.

A line of heat pressed against his back, pushing so his hips were flush against the counter and then warm hands slid down his arms as Derek’s chin hooked over his shoulder and it was way different from the last time that had happened, with the whole peeing thing. Mutual dish-doing was way more intimate than that, somehow. It could possibly have been the nearly overwhelming feeling of concerned affection Derek was giving off. Yeah, that was probably it. Stiles wasn’t sure how, but he was able to blink back the tears as Derek led the motion of them finishing off the skillet and setting it in the other half of the sink to rinse.

“I’m feeling a bit neurotic,” Stiles admitted as they moved onto the cups. “And I’d appreciate a distraction so I don’t have a panic attack right now.”

Derek grunted in acknowledgement and turned his head to give the mark he'd left on Stiles' neck a lick, which, well, werewolf, so that was probably totally normal behavior for him.

And actually, he stilled in Derek's arms. "Wait, why didn't that heal overnight? I mean, the cuts are practically fine-"

Derek's growl said they were anything _but_ fine.

"-well, they're healing more quickly than they normally would," he amended and Derek grunted again.

Stiles could tell he was withholding information and didn't appreciate it so he pressed back against the other man with perhaps more ass to crotch action than was strictly necessary and knew he had Derek's undivided attention if only because he could feel the man's growing interest and he wasn't keeping his sniffing very quiet, either.

"If you want me to not freak out about the Scott thing you're going to have to participate in this conversation on a verbal level, dude," he said as they picked up another glass. He could tell his heartbeat was too fast, that his breathing wasn’t quite deep enough, and he definitely needed some help.

Derek sighed, then nodded against the tender skin of his neck, his stubble making Stiles' breath hitch before he exhaled sharply and yeah, that was distracting because kitchen sex was definitely on his list, right under shower sex and wall sex and, fuck, car sex, but they were _not_ anything of the kind in or around the Hale's house. Just. No.

"It's like the mark you left on me," Derek rumbled quietly, pausing to mouth the wicked hicky again, and Stiles could feel Derek smirk when the sensation pulled a cut off noise from him because it wasn't like he could _help_ it, Derek just did _amazing things_ with his teeth. And his tongue. And just, all of himself. Stiles may or may not have ground back against the other man's thickening erection in retaliation.

"Go on," Stiles prompted when Derek just kind of stood there and breathed and Stiles found himself falling into the steady rhythm of the rise and fall of Derek's chest. "The marks?"

Derek pressed his whole body closer and if they weren't careful Stiles was going to have bruises on his hips from where the counter was cutting into him. Not that he cared all that much, but he was pretty sure that when Derek saw them he'd get that constipated look on his face and be super grumpy about it so he pushed back slightly and that had the added benefit of making Derek’s breath hitch for a second before he grumbled something Stiles didn’t catch.

“How was that, now?” he asked, twisting head head to try and see the other man, but their faces were too close, so he did the next best thing and kind of nuzzled his cheek against Derek’s even though the stubble would probably make his skin red. Whatever, a little beard burn never killed anyone.

“It’s the intent behind the mark,” Derek finally admitted and Stiles could feel that he was kind of embarrassed, which was as amusing as it was alarming.

“Okay,” he said slowly. “So, what? You wanted the mark to last and so it didn’t fade during the magical healing thing we had going on last night?” He wasn’t going to point out the obvious sexual component of it because a, it was _obvious_ , and b, they were surrounded by Derek’s family who apparently had a penchant for listening in on their conversations if their earlier almost bathroom sex was anything to go by.

Derek nodded against his skin and they started on the silverware, cleaning each and every piece thoroughly as Derek seemed to contemplate his answer. He finally breathed out a sigh and stilled their hands, his fingers lacing through Stiles’ in the soapy water. “I wanted it to be a mating mark,” he said quietly, like he was afraid of Stiles’ reaction. Derek was nervous, at least, that much he could feel through their touch. Nervous and cautious and so fucking hopeful that Stiles tilted his head back over Derek’s shoulder, looking up at the wooden ceiling painted white as he tried to understand what the other man was saying.

“Your mom mentioned that we should have had some kind of mating ceremony last night instead of whatever the hell it was that happened.” He wasn’t sure about that, either. The thing that had gone on between him and Peter and then whatever the others had done while Derek took care of him. No one had even said anything about it, though Peter hadn’t been a complete asshole to Stiles during breakfast, just kind of ignored him and acted aloof, which was better. Probably.

Derek made a kind of choked noise and Stiles twisted to see his open, stunned expression as he stared out the window the the back yard, but it didn’t look like he was actually _seeing_ anything. “She said that?” Derek asked in undisguised wonder.

Stiles was definitely missing something. “What _is_ the mating ceremony?” he asked cautiously. He knew that he was Derek’s mate and that Derek was his anchor, but didn’t really know how that all worked together and that sparked something in his mind he’d cast aside at some point. “Wait, do _you_ have an anchor?” Because that made perfect sense. The danger in magic was not having something to ground him after casting, but the same could probably be said for werewolves, who somehow had to balance two very disparate, not personality types, but something. World views? Biologies? Ugh, he couldn’t find the words-

“You,” Derek said simply and Stiles twisted his whole body, disregarding the fact that their still-joined hands were soapy and that the water from them was dripping down the front of their pants and onto the tiled floor.

“Me,” Stiles said flatly, unwilling to allow himself to read too much into the word because he was known for getting his hopes up and then crushed pretty painfully, so he tried to not have expectations when the stakes were so unfathomably high.

Derek smiled, sweet and genuine and it lit up his features and Stiles couldn’t help but lean forward to kiss him, their hands caged between them and getting their shirts wet, too, but neither seemed to care. Stiles drew back slowly and opened his eyes to see Derek watching him, searching his face and the force of the man’s affection was powerful enough to make his stomach clench.

“You’re my anchor,” Derek said, just like that.

And hearing him say it sent a rush of heat through Stiles body because yeah, he was really into Derek. Like. It was kind of embarrassing how much he just wanted to do everything with him, _including_ the dishes and _shit_ , Stiles was such a sap. He’d been doing the dishes with Derek like they were starring in some kind of a rom-com and even the realization didn’t bother him, so he was officially broken.

“You broke me,” Stiles declared and relished in the amused confusion on the other man’s face. “I want to do the dishes with you,” he clarified, “and so I’ve come to the conclusion that us being each other’s anchors and mates has well and truly broken me.”

Derek’s elation actually kind of startled Stiles, but the man backing him up against the counter certainly did not. His wet hands weren’t as cold as Stiles expected when Derek untangled their fingers and held Stiles’ face so he could kiss him. Thoroughly. Even though Erica came to the door at some point and cat-called at them just because she was an ass.

By the time Derek released him. Well, not released him as much as moved his mouth to pepper his cheeks with kisses while Stiles gasped for breath, he was lightheaded and hard and a bit unclear as to what had happened, though he wasn’t all that concerned about it because yeah, Derek was a phenomenal kisser, and they kind of belonged to each other in a couple of weird, magical ways and _oh_.

“Was that because I said you’re my mate, too?” Stiles asked and got another kiss for his trouble, though he took that as answer enough and brought his hand up to cradle the back of Derek’s hair despite the fact that he was probably getting dishwater on him and whatever, maybe they’d have to take another shower to wash it off. That certainly wouldn’t be the worst thing that had happened to him all day.

_Wait_.

“Shit,” he said as he pulled back, feeling like a complete ass because no, the worst thing that had happened was _his best friend disappearing_. “Fuck,” he muttered and leaned his head against Derek’s chest so he wouldn’t have to see the man’s concerned look. He _was_ concerned, and it was enough just to feel the kind of overwhelming pressure of it without having to watch the man’s forehead wrinkled and all that other stuff that made Stiles’ heart clench painfully.

“We have to find Scott,” he said. There were spots of water darkening the fabric of their shirts and splashes of it down their jeans, but it would dry and Stiles knew they should probably finish their chore, but his anxiety was ramping up again and he didn’t think he could keep it in check for too much longer before he crawled out of his skin from the stomach-churning feeling of his inaction.

Derek rubbed his chin across the top of Stiles head and sighed. “We will, Stiles,” he said and the certainty he felt kind of made Stiles want to break down and sob because he’d been told that kind of platitude before and it hadn’t ever been true. At least not when it counted. But he didn’t say what he was thinking, which was _we’ll see_ because he wanted to believe in Derek’s conviction. He wanted to believe in Deaton’s magic and his own, but his heart was already cracking from the strain.

  
  


After that Derek sent him to find Talia in her study while he finished up the dishes and Stiles went because he was antsy and thought that maybe the alpha would have some answers for him. He didn’t run into anyone as he walked down the short hallway. Her door was open and when he peeked inside she waved for him to enter without looking up from the open laptop on her desk.

“Yes, Stiles, Alan was just filling me in on what he’s discovered,” she said and indicated the screen.

He walked around the desk to her side and there was Deaton, looking a hint more concerned than Stiles had ever seen him and _that_ wasn’t comforting.

“Do you know where Scott is?” Stiles asked without preamble. Social niceties were for times when the shit hadn’t already hit the fan.

Deaton frowned, which was a terrible sign, Stiles didn’t have to be told. “It appears he’s being kept by Deucalion and his band of thugs.”

Deucalion, that was the name Peter had mentioned the night before. And it _was_ a name, apparently, not some title, but it was still really bizarre. Stiles thought it sounded like some kind of a super villain, which, spoiler alert, seemed to be the case.

Talia made an annoyed sound in her throat. “They’re more than thugs, Alan, they’re an alpha pack.” She was sitting stiffly in her chair and Stiles could see her and his own image at the lower corner of the screen, both looking kind of pensive.

Deaton nodded stiffly in acknowledgement and Stiles was suddenly wondering why he’d been let in on their private conversation, but then again the door to the room was open, so it was likely that everyone in the house could hear what was going on, too. It was only fair that Stiles be let in on things as well, apparently. He appreciated it.

“So where’s Scott?” Stiles asked because that was the only important part of what was going on, at least according to him. If Deaton knew who had his friend then it followed that he was aware of their location as well.

But Deaton just shook his head. “It’s not that simple, Stiles. There are powerful forces at play, here.”

Bull. Fucking. Shit.

He narrowed his eyes and would have called the guy out on it, but Talia placed her hand on Stiles’ wrist and his words just died on his tongue like he’d lost his voice completely.

“So tell us,” she said mildly and even though Stiles didn’t have the benefit of being able to smell her emotions he could tell she was just shy of pissed. It kind of made him want to roll over and show his belly which was really fucking strange. “Explain to Stiles exactly what an alpha pack is, Alan, and don’t leave anything out.”

Deaton looked. He looked fucking uncomfortable is how he looked and Stiles felt his rage seep away and his wrist went slack in Talia’s grip because he had a feeling whatever the veterinarian had to say, it was going to be fucking awful.

His expectations were met. And exceeded.

It _sucked_.

  
  


Stiles was sitting against the wall behind Talia’s desk, knees pulled up to his chest as he stared at the wooden drawers in front of him, eyes tracing across the carved and stained wood, but he couldn’t say what the carvings were, even though he’d been staring at them for a long while.

“You mean,” he said, trying to sort through the shit that had just been dropped in his lap. “You mean that these werewolves, these alphas, they kill their entire packs, _including their emissaries_ , in order to join Duke’s secret alpha boy band super group? This is like, this is kind of crazy, Doc, not gonna lie.”

Deaton couldn’t see him from that angle, but he nodded patiently, anyway. “That’s the jist of it, more or less,” he said and Talia turned from where she’d been pacing around the room.

The Hales? Not the type to sit still when listening.

“How many followers has he accumulated?” she asked and Stiles’ eyebrows rose. That was an excellent question.

“Deucalion and four others, that we know of,” Deaton said. “But he could have more, plus his emissary, a crone stolen from a pack they decimated on their way here.”

_An emissary crone?_ The hell was that?

Talia hissed, her eyes flashing red and Stiles was suddenly glad he was already sitting because she looked seriously scary when she was pissed. Almost instantly Derek appeared in the doorway and immediately looked at where Stiles was sort of hiding on the other side of the desk. Well, hiding from the information more than from the alpha because while he had a healthy respect for her, he didn’t think she was going to do anything to hurt him. Because he was apparently a pretty valuable asset.

_Shit_.

“They’re after me,” he told them with a kind of weariness he hadn’t known he felt until he spoke. He couldn’t meet Derek’s eyes anymore and dropped his gaze to the worn fabric of his jeans. He’d had them for years and had left them in Beacon Hills when he’d moved because in Chicago he was playing at being an adult and hadn’t thought he would have needed them. Also, it wasn’t like he could have fit much more in the bags he’d packed when he’d first moved out there. Stiles looked up again and Derek was halfway across the room, but his mother had stepped in front of him with a hand casually gripping the back of his neck, so Stiles continued. “They took Scott because they want a spark, right? That’s me.”

Deaton nodded and Talia let out a low growl.

“We aren’t giving them one of ours,” she told the room, the household, at large. “They’ve trespassed on our territory and we will kindly escort them to the gates of hell for their troubles,” she said and sounded absolutely fucking viciously serious about delivering on her threat.

Stiles’ eyes were probably as comically large as Derek’s as he stared at the other man, totally stunned by her announcement.

“Wisely spoke, Mate,” Rollin said as he strolled in and Talia dropped her hand from her son’s neck in lieu of wrapping her husband in a tight embrace and giving him a truly filthy kiss. Derek didn’t even blush as he hauled Stiles to his feet and did the same to him.

“Plan B it is,” Deaton said wryly, and Stiles flipped him off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Storytime!  
> One night I stayed with my mom at the hospital when she had to do rounds there (not quite sure that was legal since I was about twelve), and she took me to this old part of the building (built in the 1800s) where there was a largely forgotten Frankenstein-style medical amphitheater complete with super steep seating so the med students could see what was going on and a marble slab for an operating table. We had to prop the doors open on our way through a maze of corridors to get there so we wouldn't be locked in. It was super freaky and cool. So, yeah, that was awesome.


	27. Chapter 27

For the record? Plan B was _bullshit_.

Largely because Plan B consisted of Stiles being herded gently but firmly out of the room and told to go occupy himself while the werewolves slipped past him into Talia’s office and then they closed the fucking door behind them.

Unbelievably, Derek let himself be included in that madness, too, though he at least gave Stiles a sheepish shrug as his sister pulled him back a step so she could shut the door in Stiles’ face.

Just.

Locked him out like he was being punished or something, like he _wasn’t even a part of the fucking pack_. It was so _stupid_ and Stiles was _pissed the fuck off_ about it because he mostly certainly was part of the pack. He’d proven that he was a part of it and that he’d _earned_ his place. For them to literally lock him out of the proceedings was baffling and idiotic.

In retaliation he took Derek’s phone from where it had been sitting on the kitchen counter and reset his wallpaper with a picture of Stiles sticking his tongue out, which was actually pretty juvenile, but whatever. Derek totally deserved it because he was acting like an asshole.

Okay, so Stiles knew it wasn’t exactly Derek’s choice as to what had happened, but still, it was stupid and it _hurt Stiles’ feelings_ because apparently he had the definite ability to be totally butthurt about Derek’s lack of consideration. Because what had happened? That was so beyond acceptable that Stiles was actually kind of stunned by it. Well, stunned and utterly pissed that his anchor slash mate slash boyfriend-

_Were they boyfriends?_

-hadn’t even put up a fight about Stiles being locked out of the discussion that no doubt involved him and _definitely_ involved his kidnapped best friend, which Stiles wasn’t going to think about because he wasn’t going to have a panic attack about the whole thing. Not until it was over, at least. Then he would have ample opportunity to freak out about what could have gone wrong with the whole plan.

A plan he wasn’t being invited to participate in coming up with and that was probably what he was the _most_ irate about because Stiles was an _excellent_ planner, his previous kidnapping aside because the Argents?

_No one_ had seemed to have predicted that they would have made such a ballsy move.

He came to an abrupt halt where he’d been pacing across Derek’s bedroom and cursed under his breath because as far as he knew no one had really mentioned Gerard Argent’s un-dead-ed-ness, or the fact that he was maybe an alpha and _holy fucking shit_ he might have joined the alpha pack, which would add a sixth super-powered asshole to their number because apparently to gain admission into the group the alpha had to kill _their entire pack_. Which was all kinds of fucked up. So, yeah Gerard was probably at least an applicant because he’d definitely killed Charlie pretty dead.

Or _he_ was the one who had really kidnapped Scott because Stiles wasn’t instantly inclined to believe everything Deaton told them.

Or he could have been standing out on the Hale’s lawn, for all Stiles knew.

Or his _dad’s_ lawn.

“Fuck,” he muttered, and promptly began tossing Derek’s room looking for the keys to the camaro because _nope_. He was _not_ leaving his dad unprotected from the crazy that was a newly turned werewolf psychopath. Potentially an _alpha_ werewolf psychopath. That was not a thing that was happening. Plus, he could use some of his mom’s magic stuff, maybe, or at least be there in case someone tried to do anything to the sheriff. Stiles was actually pretty okay with shoving a lightning bolt up Gerard’s ass. It sounded like a pretty constructive use of his powers since his previous attempt to kill the guy hadn’t worked.

And wow, he was feeling pretty aggressive.

“Stiles?” Derek asked from the doorway, like he was afraid to approach his clearly manic mate who was elbow deep in his sock drawer. Derek had a lot of socks for someone who had just returned to the house after a twenty plus year hiatus. Stiles blamed Laura, which by default also meant Erica was somehow involved, especially since a good third of the socks were pink. Kind of a dead giveaway, there.

“Oh, so you’re back to acknowledging my presence?” he asked, abandoning the drawer, and the mess he’d made to approach Derek because he knew exactly where else keys could hide.

And Derek didn’t even move when Stiles rocked to a halt in front of him and squeezed his hands down the front pockets of Derek’s tight jeans, glaring straight into the werewolf’s eyes. Derek made an inquisitive noise and seemed like he was surprised by that development and maybe even a little hopeful, but then Stiles growled when he didn’t find what he’d been looking for and yanked his hands away and Derek looked pretty confused by that whole chain of events.

“Stiles?” he asked again, that time with more caution, like he was on uneven ground. Which, yeah, he should be uncomfortable about his footing because Stiles was fucking pissed off at him.

“Have you decided to throw me to the wolves or not?” Stiles asked as he breezed out the room, both phones in hand because he was petty and didn’t want to give Derek’s to him quite yet. “Not that it matters because I’m taking your car and I’m going home while you all plot and whatever the hell else you were doing in there.” Which Stiles wouldn’t know because he _hadn’t been invited_.

_Fuck_.

He just.

He’d thought it would have been different, is what he’d thought, but apparently being a _mere human_ in a wolf pack meant pushing him aside was no problem, even if his supposed rank was higher than most of the others. And Stiles was fucking tired of being disregarded by people, mainly exes and assholes, but still, he took issue with being used and overlooked and there they were. It was like his whole fucking life was being played on repeat, like he was back in high school or in Samson’s bed or Cassandra’s, just used until there was barely anything left of him and then discarded, ignored.

_Like old fucking times._

There were multiple sets of keys on the table by the front door because of course that’s where the Hales seemed to all keep them, so Stiles grabbed the ones for the camaro, vaguely aware of Derek’s soft footsteps behind him as he flung open the door and jerked back because there was someone’s fist right there at eye level.

The paunchy middle-aged guy looked startled as well and it took Stiles a second to realize he was a courier carrying two packages.

“Mr. Stiliny?” the guy said, kind of awkwardly juggling the boxes and his hand-held scanner device.

“Yeah,” Stiles said slowly. Not many people got his last name right, so he’d long learned not to bother correcting them, but really? Stiliny? That wasn’t even all that close to being correct. Where was the _ski_?

“These are for you, then,” he said, and thrust the packages at him so he had no choice but to awkwardly cradle them to his chest even though he still had both phones and the keys in his hands or else risk dropping all of it, which he didn’t want to do because he didn’t even know what the packages contained, and _holy shit_ he suddenly had the horrible thought that it could have been some kind of disturbing kidnapper’s ransome thing, like one of Scott’s severed body parts could be inside and he backed up so quickly he smacked into Derek’s chest, but used it to rebound as he clutched the packages tighter and raced back up the stairs.

He was vaguely aware of Derek agreeing to sign for him as he went careening into the bedroom and dropped both boxes on the bed, using the keys still clutched in one hand to start cutting through the tape of the heavier one. He threw the phones that had been in his other hand onto the bed and could feel his breathing become ragged as he tried not to think about what parts of Scott could be inside.

Stiles was halfway through tearing into the stupidly impossible fibrous tape when Derek appeared at his side, silently popping a claw and cutting a clean cut down the rest of it much more quickly than he had been managing with the serrated edge of the key. And then Stiles had to stop, staring at the darkness of the line between the flaps with a sickening feeling of dread in his stomach. It was quite possible that he was going to throw up. If one of Scott’s body parts was inside, that possibility would become a certainty.

“Stiles, what-”

“No,” he answered before Derek could even form the question. He couldn’t hear what he had to say, whatever it was. Not right them, even though the werewolf could probably smell it, could have told Stiles exactly what the contents of the box were, but he needed to see it himself for it to be real and if Derek told him then he wouldn’t _want_ to see it, and then he wouldn’t believe, just like he hadn’t really believed his mother was going to die until he’d held her limp hand in his, had seen the long, unmoving line of the heart rate monitor that told them she was unequivocally dead.

If Scott died, though, _because of him_ , Stiles was pretty sure he’d go mad.

Like ripping off a bandaid, he grabbed the flaps and parted them quickly, then grunted in surprise. Inside was some kind of metal engine part.

“The fuck?” he asked. If Deucalion or Gerard or whoever was trying to send him a message they were being way too vague for Stiles’ taste.

What, like he was saying _here I have a vital part of you_ , or _you’ll never function properly without this component I’ve taken_ or something kind of lame like _you can’t run away now_?

What the _fuck_?

“It’s for your jeep,” Derek said quietly, like he wasn’t sure he was allowed to talk. He also wasn’t touching Stiles, but from his tone of voice he was completely confused by Stiles’ reaction.

After another few seconds Stiles let out a shaky breath because _of fucking course_ it was for his jeep. It was probably whatever part Laura had ordered because she was fixing Betty for him and it was _no wonder_ the Hales hadn’t wanted him in on their plotting session because he was a goddamned _mess_.

There was still the other box, though. He checked the label and it was likewise sent to him at the Hale’s address because Laura was an unsubtle asshole. Well, if she was the one who had ordered that, too. If not he was back to the whole ransome thing and his throat kind of felt like it was going to close up, but he managed to swallow despite the tightness.

Stiles nodded for Derek to assist him and the werewolf did so without comment, still keeping his skin away from Stiles’ like he knew the contact would be appreciated because that sure as hell was the case. When the tape was cut he stepped back and let Stiles take the lead, which apparently involved some deep breathing and then some unhelpful full-body paralysis.

“It smells like-”

“Nope,” Stiles shook his head again, for the same reason as before. He had to do it himself. Scott was his friend, his brother, and if the thing contained his finger or ear or whatever he was going to be the one to identify it, not Derek.

He appreciated the moral support, though, not that he’d admit it out loud or anything.

That time he pulled back the flaps slowly, hands shaking so badly he wasn’t sure how he managed to keep a grip on the cardboard and he let out a baffled noise because there was certainly _something_ red inside, but it wasn’t anything to do with Scott.

“The hell is this?” he asked and let his fingers slide against the cotton fabric. It was mostly white, actually, with printed red cherries and green leaves and when he drew it out he noticed the thick red ribbon at the waist of what was clearly a dress and also at the top because it was cut in a halter-style with a white zipper along the back. The bottom had red tulle sticking out of it and Stiles could feel his eyebrows go up because even though it was clearly a dress, it was also just as apparent that it was definitely for him.

“It looks like a dress,” Derek said cautiously and when Stiles glanced over at him his ears were red and he couldn’t seem to be able to look away from the fabric Stiles was holding up.

It was really cute, actually, and would accentuate not only his slim waist, but also his broad shoulders and his long legs because it looked like it would fall just under under his knees.

Stiles nodded. “We’ll hang it up in your closet, I guess, but this doesn’t change the fact that I’ve got to get home. Who knows where the hell Gerard has gotten to and I don’t want my dad to be alone if psychopaths are kidnapping the people I love.”

Derek though, Derek seemed to still be trying to process the whole dress thing.

“Laura got it for me,” Stiles told him as he sighed and moved to the closet to hang it up himself. He made a mental note to put it in the bathroom the next time he showered so the steam could help with a few of the wrinkles. Otherwise it looked ready to wear.

“Damn, that’s cute,” Erica said and Stiles got the impression that lurking in doorways was a family trait. Pack trait. Whatever.

Stiles shrugged at it, agreeing, but it really wasn’t the time for that. “I’d probably shave my legs to wear it,” he decided. “Or wax.” And while he knew that hurt like the dickens, he enjoyed having smooth legs for longer than a day or two if he went to all that trouble.

Derek made a noise and Stiles turned back to him. “What?” he asked. They hadn’t really gone over the whole cross-dressing part of their relationship, at least not in great enough detail for Stiles to do anything like try on the dress right then and there, which he certainly would have otherwise. Well, if his life hadn’t been completely fucked up. But really, he supposed if Derek was vehemently against it Stiles could come up with some kind of a compromise, like reserving it for when he was home alone or hanging out with Laura and Erica, but Stiles didn’t exactly want to put that kind of restriction on himself, not when he actually enjoyed wearing them and huh, he’d never actually told anyone he was dating about that particular aspect of his identity, before.

“Whatever, we’re getting off-track,” he said as he slipped it onto a hanger and into the nearly empty closet, then pointed a finger at Derek. “I’m still pissed at you, and I’m still going to my dad’s house, either in your car or on foot because that’s what’s going to happen.”

Derek’s eyebrows disagreed, so did Erica’s snort. “Good luck getting out the front door,” she said and gave a jaunty wave before disappearing into the hallway.

And huh?

“You can’t leave,” Derek said quietly, but seriously. Stiles could tell he was serious because he was crossing his arms across his chest and had widened his stance like he was gearing up for a fight. A physical one. And that kind of posture was pretty assertive, really.

Well fuck _that_.

“Fuck that,” Stiles said and moved around him to the bed to pick up the keys. “Oh, and I changed your phone’s background,” he said and was about to grab them both to check whose was whose when they both vibrated with an incoming call.

Because _of course_ Derek hadn’t taken his creeper program off Stiles’ phone.

“Real nice, Derek,” he muttered, then grabbed the closer one and suddenly it felt like there wasn’t enough oxygen in the room because it was a call from _Scott_.

He was only stunned into inaction for a fraction of a second before he slammed his thumb onto the call accept button and pressed the phone to his ear. “Scott where the hell are you?” he asked in a rush, feeling his relief like a palpable loosening across his chest. An iron band being unscrewed.

But there was silence on the other end and Stiles could hear the pounding of footsteps on the stairs in the Hale’s house as the others rushed up to Derek’s room. Stiles kept his back turned to the door, though, not wanting them to see the relieved tears in his eyes.

“Scott?” he asked again, his momentary relief souring as another possibility occurred to him.

“You must be the spark,” an accented voice said and Stiles was momentarily captivated by it, his mind blazing through all of the accents he’d ever heard at school or work, trying to classify where the guy had come from, but he was drawing a blank.

“You must be the asshole who has my best friend,” Stiles said and didn’t appreciate the Hales hissing at him in the background because _fuck them_. They’d had their chance to include Stiles in their plotting and hadn’t wanted to. He had the phone, so he was in charge of negotiations.

But the voice on the other end just laughed, as if delighted by Stiles’ spunk or dickishness or something. “Indeed, I am Deucalion, and I have a lad by the name of Scott McCall who is here with me and is waiting for you to come and take his place.”

Stiles started to answer, but the phone was snatched from him as a strong arm clasped around his chest, pinning his arms and before he could shout Derek’s other hand was covering his mouth as he whispered a shushing noisein Stiles’ ear. They’d twisted so Stiles could see that Talia was the one with the phone, her eyes blazing red as she growled into it, low and deep and Stiles found himself going slack against Derek’s chest, even though he wanted to kick the guy in the shins or something because manhandling was strictly for the bedroom. Well, technically they were _in_ Derek's bedroom, but still, they’d talked about it and Stiles was _not_ okay with being hauled around like a piece of meat.

The rest of the family was staring at Talia with hawkish expressions, very obviously poised for a fight as she finally tampered down her growling and seemed to listen to whatever it was Deucalion McCreeperson was saying to her.

Stiles couldn't hear, of course, but judging by the pack’s expressions and the worry tinged with terror coming from Derek, the news was pretty dire.

He pressed back against Derek, to tell him that he wasn't going to run or fight or do anything else stupid, which was probably a lie, but Stiles needed more information before he decided what he was actually going to do.

"I hear your terms," Talia said mildly, but her claws were out, “and I reject them.”

Stiles opened his mouth to protest, but then every other wolf but Talia flinched like they’d heard something terrible and Stiles didn’t need to be touching Derek, to feel his shock, to know that _Scott wasn’t okay_.

Instead of words, a kind of roar startled its way out of Stiles’ mouth and he exploded out of Derek’s arms and seized the phone from an impressed-looking Talia. The others looked pretty startled, really and Stiles glared them away from him and put the phone to his ear.

“Repeat your demands, if you would,” he ground out and held his arm straight out, palm facing the others when Derek made a move to approach him, his face open with vulnerability and concern. “Try to take this phone from me and you’ll fucking regret it,” he said and his palm crackled with electricity and woah, rage certainly had some awesome benefits.

Deucalion, Stiles’ least favorite person on the planet, made a considering noise. “At last,” he said, voice smooth and oddly lilting, “I was hoping you’d be willing to negotiate, though I’m afraid Alpha Hale,” he said the name with disdain, “has already, shall we say, led to us having to compromise the integrity of our bargaining chip. It is a good thing you’re not vehemently opposed to werewolves, is it not? This way you and your friend may even be able to spend some quality time together, though not very much I’m afraid. There are strict timelines for these types of things.”

Stiles was kind of fucking confused by a lot of that, except for the part where Scott had apparently been _bitten by a werewolf_.

“Let me speak to him,” Stiles said with a kind of calm he didn’t feel. He growled low in his throat when Derek tried to shuffle closer and Rollin took ahold of his son’s bicep to hold him in place. Stiles’ hand had stopped glowing, but the rest of the werewolves were watching him like he was being completely, dangerously unpredictable. Which, yeah, that was kind of the way of things.

“As you wish,” Deucalion demurred, then there was the sound of air through the receiver and Scott’s harsh breathing.

_Fuck_.

“Hey buddy,” Stiles said, his voice suddenly gentle and he could do that, he could help Scott with that one thing. “Do you have your inhaler?” Stiles had no idea how quickly the werewolfiness thing took effect, or if it would cure his friend’s asthma, but he was inching toward a full-on attack by the sound of it, so Stiles took charge and audibly slowed his own breathing. It was kind of ironic, really, two best friends with breathing problems, though Stiles’ panic attacks were more psychosomatic than anything else, but still, they could potentially kill him if they were bad enough. Just like his friend’s asthma.

Scott made a noise that sounded like a negative.

_Shit_.

“Scott, I need you to just breathe, okay, I know it’s hard, but you’re going to be fine. I’m going to make sure you’re fine,” Stiles said and that was _absolutely_ going to happen because he was going to tear Deucalion’s head from his fucking body for taking someone Stiles loved. He was going to rip the fucker into tiny pieces and feed them to the crows for threatening his family.

Derek made a low noise and Stiles’ eyes snapped to him and it kind of seemed like the werewolves were all looking at him like they were, not scared exactly, but something else. Wary? Respectful?

Well, except for Peter, who had a smirk on his face and seemed pretty pleased with himself and Stiles kind of wanted to go after him as soon as he’d dealt with the alpha pack.

“You with me, Scotty?” Stiles asked, tearing his eyes away from the others and staring blankly at the hardwood floor, keeping his breaths even as his friend tried to keep pace.

“Yeah,” came the thready reply and Stiles squeezed his eyes shut in relief.

“That’s awesome, man, just keep concentrating on me. I know shit’s kinda crazy right now, but I’m coming for you.”

“Stiles, you can’t,” Scott said, but his voice was cut off by the phone disconnecting from the other end and the rumbling of Derek’s growls.

Stiles’ eyes opened and he glared at his mate. “You made your plans, I made mine,” he said and while it was only really a half-truth, he hadn’t actually plotted out exactly what he was going to do, Stiles knew it was going to be something.

Talia stepped forward, probably to mediate, when the phones buzzed again and Stiles answered the one in his hand before Derek could lunge to the bed to get the other.

“Your conditions?” Stiles asked because while he hadn’t been into serial crime dramas like Charlie, he was pretty well versed in the whole kidnapping ransom thing, it was a common trope in action movies, after all, and he’d seen more than his fair share of those.

“I had heard you were clever, but I hadn’t expected you to be quite so _vivacious_ ,” Deucalion said and Stiles thought he might have a South African accent, but wasn’t certain.

“I’m a lot of things,” he challenged, narrowing his eyes and taking a step back when Derek tried to draw closer despite his dad’s hand still on his arm.

Deucalion made a noise of interest before he laughed. “That may be,” he said amiably and Stiles thought that even if he hadn’t kidnapped Scott, the guy would still probably come across as totally creepy. He gave off a vibe, even just over the phone.

“My friend needs his inhaler, he has asthma,” Stiles said firmly and Peter raised his eyebrows at the tone, but _fuck Peter_.

“Does he now?”

“Yes.”

The other man-

_Alpha werewolf_ , Stiles reminded himself.

-made a tsking noise and it sounded like he was tapping against concrete or stone or something else hard but not metallic with what sounded like a stick. “Now, now, Stiles, I have to admit I am disappointed in you. Surely you know that it’s too late for human medicines to have any affect on your friend. He only has two options left, he will either turn or die.”

Stiles couldn’t help but look to Talia for confirmation and she gave a tight nod.

“If he dies, I will destroy you,” Stiles said evenly and he knew everyone listening could tell he wasn’t lying. But he wasn’t telling the entire truth about that, either. He was going to kill Deucalion regardless of the outcome of Scott’s bite. He would just have to make it infinitely more painful if the bite didn’t take.

“We shall send you the address and see you at sundown,” the alpha said, sounding not at all put out by the threat. And then the line went dead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stiles is kind of a ball of rage in this chapter...things are not going well...


	28. Chapter 28

Everyone began talking at once, except for Stiles who just stood there and watched as the werewolves flashed their eyes and fangs and shouted their opinions, trying to be heard over the cacophony that contained more than a little growling. He could make out Peter saying he thought Stiles’ initial idea to charge headlong into the fray was a good one, which absolutely meant it was a terrible plan that would blow up in his face, and that seemed to be the gist of Derek’s counter argument. He wasn’t sure what Laura, Erica, Rollin and Talia were going on about, other than that it seemed to require a lot of hand movements that made him step back a bit just in case some rogue claws go too close.

All in all, it made him feel a bit like Frodo, actually, though he knew if he tried to interject to tell them all he was going to go straight to Scott when he got the address, they would strongly object. Probably for good reason, but they were running out of time and options pretty quickly since it was noon and sunset was only a handful of hours away.

Finally, Talia let out a bark that startled everyone into silence. “It appears our previous plan will have to be slightly modified to take into account the newly bitten werewolf, but otherwise that is what we will do.”

Derek had a sour kind of expression on his face, as did Laura, but the others just kind of nodded and began walking out of the room.

“Wait, what?” Stiles couldn’t keep himself from saying as he watched Derek pocket the other phone and grab the keys to the camaro. “No, fuck you, I’m taking the car, Derek,” he said, but didn’t anticipate the werewolf turning to him with a chagrined expression.

“You’re not, Stiles, and I’m sorry for this,” he said, then in a smooth movement he had Stiles over his shoulder and was tromping out of the room and down the hall.

“What?” he wheezed, not really a fan of the position or Derek’s unwillingness to talk about what the hell was going on. “Talia?” he tried, aware that she was following them, but she shook her head sadly.

“I’m sorry, Stiles, we will try to get your friend back, but we simply can’t afford to risk losing you to the alpha pack. They’re already powerful enough without adding you to their ranks.”

Which in no way explained the man-handling, nor why they were going into Talia and Rollin’s room, or why Derek was depositing him in the center of the bed. The muscular man leaned over the edge and grabbed at something, then, with a wince, he clicked a handcuff around Stiles’ wrist.

“You are fucking kidding me,” Stiles said, waiting for the punchline, momentarily too stunned to move because that was. That was so fucking beyond idiotic he couldn’t even fathom what the hell they were thinking.

“I am sorry,” Derek said, his lingering tough on Stiles’ wrist conveying the emotion, but Stiles wasn’t going to just forgive and forget, not with something so profoundly wrong.

“When I get out of this, you are going to have to beg me to forgive you,” Stiles informed him coolly, though it felt like his entire soul was frothing with rage and hurt. He couldn’t actually believe Derek thought that was an acceptable thing to do to him, not after what he’d shared about Cassandra tying him up and being fucking kidnapped and cuffed by the Argents and if he wasn’t careful his scheduled panic attack would come sooner rather than later, but no, he wasn’t going to allow that to happen, though a part of him said it would instantly make Derek disregard what were undoubtedly his mother’s orders to restrain him and _fucking hell_ pack dynamics were so much bullshit. “And even then, you’re going to have a lot of shit to slog through before you could even hope to being making things right with me.”

Stiles couldn’t ever really remember being so angry before and if he weren’t saving up all of his magical energy for when he was going to vaporize Deucalion et al, he would have showed Derek just how fucking unhappy he was about the situation.

Which was when Peter walked in and did his whole smirking asshole routine. “Alpha,” he said with what sounded a bit like mockery, but could possibly pass for respect. Maybe.

“What is it, brother?” she asked, still watching Stiles and Derek hawkishly, concerned and with a resigned kind of triumph.

He had unkind thoughts about that particular expression and he _seethed_.

The last thing he wanted was a larger audience to witness his humiliation and he wondered how the handcuff was attached to the bed. He leaned over and held back a curse. It was secured to a bolt screwed securely into the floor and there was some kind of dried cement or paste or something around the base, so it was unlikely he could get that to come loose. The handcuff, though, it might be tricky, but he’d give it a shot.

“We have it here to help the younger pups during the full moon,” Derek explained even though Stiles was trying to ignore his hovering presence. “It’s easier for them to learn control when they’re surrounded by pack.”

That made sense, Stiles supposed, but if a werewolf wasn’t able to get the damn thing out of the floor then he knew he shouldn’t even try it. The cuff it was, then.

“Deaton is on the line downstairs, he’s requesting an audience with you and the spark,” Peter said, eyes cutting to Stiles where he was half-sprawled. He could have scrambled over the side of the bed, wedged himself between it and the wall, but there wasn’t much room and it didn’t seem like it would be a comfortable place to squat, so he remained where he was, hating how helpless he probably looked.

Talia nodded. “I shall speak to him, then, and inform him that Stiles is indisposed and will remain so for the duration of the threat. Derek, attend your mate, Peter, with me,” she said and breezed out of the room with her smirking brother at her heels.

Stiles wanted to kick Derek in his stupid, guilty face, but knew he could never do that to him. He couldn’t physically abuse his partner. Derek was his anchor and mate, even though Stiles was pissed off and so fucking wounded because of what the dumbass had done and was continuing to do to him.

“This is a severe violation,” Stiles informed him, marveling at how even and quiet his voice sounded when all he wanted to do was scream and _howl_ his misery, his betrayal.

Derek looked like he was going to be sick, which was as it should be. Stiles refused to be made to feel guilty for being so poorly used.

“I’m serious, Derek, this is so wrong of you I can’t even understand how we’re ever going to make things right.” Because he wasn’t just going to forgive and forget. He couldn’t allow himself the luxury of that kind of flippancy, not after what he had suffered and the thought alone made his old scars thud with remembered pain. It wasn’t real, he knew, but it didn’t stop the ache.

For his part, Derek looked like a kicked pup. “It’s the only way to keep you safe,” he said quietly and if he had been in his wolf form his ears would have been pinned back and his tail between his legs.

Stiles swallowed back bile, as well as his first few knee-jerk responses because he wasn’t just going to lash out like a wounded animal, though he certainly felt like one. No, he decided as he glared up at Derek’s unclassifiable eyes, he was going to go for the kill with one savage blow, as was necessary. “When I get out of this,” he gestured to the cuff without breaking eye contact, “we are re-negotiating _everything_ and I don’t want you to even _think_ about touching me. At all. No fist-bumps or handshakes and _especially_ no kissing. Your rights to my body have been revoked and I will not tolerate any further close proximity. Violating that demand, because it is a demand, not a request, will result in assault charges filed with the Beacon Hills Sheriff’s Department. Do I make myself clear?”

Derek’s face was so pale Stiles thought he was actually going to faint, but he somehow managed to give a curt, if silent, nod and clambered off of the bed like he was afraid one of his limbs would spontaneously disobey Stiles’ orders and get him arrested.

Jesus, if it came to that Derek was so unbelievably fucked he didn’t even know. Well, judging by his pallor he had a pretty good idea of how Sheriff Stilinski would take the news of his son’s assault. Poorly. Homicidally.

After some silent dicking around Derek provided a couple of bottles of water, a bucket to piss in, and some energy bars. Stiles spotted the phone he’d been using where it had dropped on the bed a bit closer to the door, but it was half-hidden under a fold in the sheet, so no one hadn't spotted it and taken it from him. Stiles was pretty sure that if he had pointed it out that was what would have happened. He couldn't imagine Derek willingly handing it over when the first thing Stiles was going to do with it was call his dad to come uncuff him.

And then with one last guilty look, Derek nodded and left the room. Stiles listened and after a few more minutes he could hear the sound of the front door closing and then nothing.

They really had left him.

  
  


It turned out the movies had lied. No amount of _using the force_ or _wingardium leviosa-ing_ brought the damned cellphone any closer to him. He tried everything he could think of, but the sheet wasn't budging when he tried to pull it, his body wasn't long enough to stretch that far even when he nearly dislocated his shoulder during that particular experiment, and the energy bar wrappers made a pretty shitty lasso.

Eventually, Stiles gave up.

He was trapped there, he knew with a complicated sense of remembrance. His dad’s experiments had always been controlled when it came to the more dangerous or potentially scarring skills he’d taught Stiles. But it was that training that told him the cuff wasn't pickable given the resources at hand. The mattress was some kind of foam number, so it didn’t contain any springs he could potentially use to pick it, and the base was a solid wooden platform, so there weren’t wires of any kind that he could bend to meet his needs. Stiles couldn’t fit his hand through it, either, not without breaking at least a few fingers, and even then he wasn’t sure it would have helped.

So, yeah, Derek the wonder-douche had definitely left him there alone, and unable to contact anyone. He was pretty much defenseless. Well, as defenseless as someone who could summon lightning could be. Which.

_Huh_.

Stiles eyed the handcuff again and thought about how he could use his newfound magical powers to melt the metal or something, but then he remembered the gaping hole in the steel roof and bit his lip because while he certainly wanted to get free so he could help take care of the alpha pack, he didn’t exactly feel it was necessary to burn down the Hale’s house in the process. Not with him trapped inside of it.

Jesus, Derek hadn’t thought things through. Like at all.

For instance, anyone could just burst into the house and do whatever they wanted to him. Which, woah, that actually kick-started Stiles’ heart to a dizzying degree before he managed to take some deep, cleansing breaths because he wasn’t actually in mortal peril.

_Yet_.

When he thought more about his abilities it was kind of impressive that he’d been able to summon electricity without putting in a new skylight when he’d been pissed off in Derek’s room. And that, that was pretty handy, actually, the whole ball of buzzing energy he’d had in his palm, but he wasn’t sure how he’d actually managed that while having a conversation and feeling overcome with rage and yeah, that was probably why he’d been able to manage it, actually. That kind of rage was certainly a potent enough emotion for him to have tapped into.

But Stiles’ anger had drained from him and he just felt empty for it’s absence. Empty and used and forgotten. Again. He curled up awkwardly on the big bed, uncomfortable in his shoes and jeans, his bound wrist preventing him from pressing his hand against his chest like he prefered when he slept, not without shifting his position so his back was to the door and that wouldn’t do. He was already vulnerable enough without being unable to see the only point of entry besides the windows, which were on the second floor, so they were relatively unbreachable.

Except by a werewolf.

Stiles tried to curl his body tighter and let the sudden melancholy that had settled into his bones take over as he succombed to a dreamless sleep.

  
  


A sound woke him and he was momentarily discombobulated, flailing for a second before his wrist and shoulder twinged because yeah, he was still handcuffed and the Hales were still assholes. Two truths he could be certain of in an otherwise random world. He could see through the windows that it was light out, so he hadn't missed the big showdown, not unless he’d slept through the night, but that didn’t seem to be the case because even though he’d drank one of the bottles of water Derek had magnanimously left him, he hadn’t needed to use the bucket, yet. Stiles wasn't certain about what had woken him either, though judging by how his life was shaping up, it was probably a werewolf who could tell that he was the only person in the house.

_Whatever_.

"Hello?" he called out, figuring it couldn't hurt anymore than it might. Which didn't make any sense, but he'd just woken up and wasn't firing on all cylinders quite yet.

"Stiles?" Boyd's deep voice asked from the doorway and he had to force back a noise of shock because it _was_ Boyd. _And_ Isaac, because he could just make out the curls over the larger man's shoulder even though the angle was a bit awkward.

"Holy shit I can’t believe you guys are here come help me," he said in a rush, waving his cuffed hand and Isaac startled forward a few steps before Boyd's firm grip on his arm arrested him.

Which was a really bad sign.

Boyd looked kind of suspicious, his eyes taking in the rumpled sheets from where Stiles had struggled to get the phone, the wrappers from the energy bars, the bottles of water and the bucket Stiles hadn’t bothered to put on the floor since it was still empty. And Stiles realized he could have totally tied his shoelaces to that and tried to use the bucket as a scoop to gather the cell phone.

_Damnit_.

“Why are you handcuffed like a newly bitten werewolf?” Boyd asked calmly and Isaac rocked back on his heels beside him, no longer needing the gentle restraint of Boyd’s hand, but he hadn’t moved it. And where Boyd seemed a bit closed off and wary of the situation, Isaac was just curious, like he hadn’t even thought to question the circumstances and just wanted to help out his friend and Stiles was suddenly, painfully reminded of Scott, which just served to stoke the embers of his earlier rage.

Stiles narrowed his eyes. “Are you shitting me right now?” he asked, actually shocked. He couldn’t believe it, that he was so distrustful of him after what had happened. Well, actually that made some sense because Stiles wasn’t exactly known for his rationality when the stakes were high, and really it was a wonder that Isaac wasn’t looking at him the same as Boyd because Stiles was the one who had gotten him hit by an SUV full of werewolf hunters when he’d done something rash the last time. So he scrubbed his free hand across his face and sighed as he leaned back to get more comfortable. His shoulder was really starting to ache. “Forget I asked that, it was a stupid question. Well, okay, I wasn’t bitten, but I’m part of the pack, now. We had a whole initiation thing last night and when Peter challenged me for my place I used magic to encase him in dirt.”

Isaac made a little barked noise of shock before he clapped a hand over his mouth, eyes wide. It was a pretty adorable involuntary reaction, actually and Stiles had to tamp down a smile.

“Where, exactly, do you rank in the pack?” Boyd asked slowly, and Stiles tucked his free arm under his head so he could tilt his head up to watch the other man’s eyes flick down to his chest like he was studying Stiles’ heartbeat because _of course_ he was going to make sure he wasn’t lying.

“I’m under Rollin above Laura and Peter,” Stiles said evenly.

Which wasn’t what they’d expected to hear at all, judging by their openly shocked expressions.

“But,” Isaac said before he gave a low whine, edging closer to the bed and that time Boyd let him go. “But why would they chain you up like that if you weren’t bitten,” he said knee-walking across the sheet and stopping just shy of Stiles’ legs.

_Because they’re stupid assholes who are going to get themselves killed_ , he didn’t say.

At that point, Stiles was pretty sure they’d help him, but he wasn’t certain, and he had no idea what they had been told about the situation. Probably not much if they hadn’t even known Stiles was their newest pack mate.

So instead of the sass, he leveled them both with a serious look. “What do you know about alpha packs?” he asked and Isaac jumped like he’d been goosed and immediately reached his clawed hands for the handcuff.

Which was answer enough, really.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I get a few random calls a week because apparently my cell phone number used to belong to a Chinese take-out place and it's still printed on some of the old menus.


	29. Chapter 29

The hug was unexpected, though it probably shouldn't have been.

Isaac practically pinned him to the bed with it, his little chuffing noises pretty close to Stiles’ ear, but before he could protest or anything Boyd was pressed up along his back and then he was in the middle of a werewolf sandwich, the residual twinges in his freed wrist and shoulder melting away as their unnatural heat enveloped him. It was a relief to feel wanted after being pretty much abandoned by the rest of the pack.

Whom he was pretty sure they were going to have to save.

“Uh, hey guys, you do know we need to get this show on the road, right?” he said, but the hugging-

_Ah, scenting, that’s what they were doing._

-just continued for another few minutes until even Stiles began to relax as the steady rhythm of their breathing lulled him into a temporary sense of calm. He knew it was temporary, of course, but he didn’t try to dredge up the fury he’d felt earlier, not until he had to, at least. Not until he had Deucalion in his sights. _Then_ he’d unleash his untempered rage and blast the evil asshole into oblivion. Because, really, it was that douchelord's fault Scott was kidnapped and possibly hurt, and that the rest of the Hale pack was in imminent peril, and that Derek had been put in a position where he’d thought violating Stiles' limits was an acceptable alternative to him being put in danger with the rest of them.

_Wait_.

Stiles had told Derek on more than one occasion that being tied up was a hard limit for him, which meant that regardless of the situation Stiles was not comfortable with being put in restraints. That had been part of their kink negotiation and Derek had whole-heartedly agreed to honor Stiles' wishes, though he’d personally had no objections to bondage play. Derek had also acknowledged that Stiles was iffy about being manhandled too much without some kind of a conversation about that specific situation or fantasy before a scene. So for him to violate not one, but two of Stiles' limits was utterly baffling, especially since Derek had proven that his verbal recall was exceptional. There was no reason for him to have overlooked the rules of play they'd agreed upon, not unless he had some other angle besides unquestioning obedience to his mother and _fuck_.

It was perfectly clear to Stiles what had happened and he would have laughed if it hadn’t made him feel so much like crying. Derek had acted deliberately to piss him off. He’d done two of the things he’d known would make Stiles reel and run away in order to drive him off and keep him out of the danger Derek and the rest of the pack were running toward. Without _him_ , their greatest weapon. It didn’t make the other man’s actions right, or even pardonable, but it also didn’t mean Stiles had to do what they expected. He wouldn’t be so easily cowed.

Derek was such an _idiot_.

But really, it was a pretty clever, if an overall ethically ambiguous plan, though it had one vital flaw. Derek hadn't taken into account Stiles' obsessive need to problem-solve, or his ability to see patterns in behavior as well as in numbers, so Derek's plotting, while actually quite creative, was doomed because even though Stiles was still pissed off at him, the sharp edge of his anger was no longer focused on getting even. At least not with Derek. His sights were firmly set on Deucalion and when that asshole was out of the way, Stiles would get Derek to confess his actual intentions, and then they'd have a long talk about healthy relationships and the necessity of trust.

And then they’d go to couples therapy because Stiles would not tolerate that kind of manipulation from his partner, whom he knew he had to rely on if he wanted to use his magic, and that wasn’t entirely safe for them psychologically, Stiles knew. The reliance they seemed to have on each other because Derek wasn’t just his anchor, he was the werewolf’s as well. Without physical contact they could both lose control.

After the shitshow with Cassandra, Stiles had practically memorized several _Is S/he an Abuser_ checklists and upon doing a mental run-down of them he had to say things weren’t looking all that good for him and his anchor. Derek might not have given him scars, but Stiles wasn’t so caught up in things that he didn’t realize how incredibly unhealthy their situation was. When things were more settled, when Scott was safe and Deucalion and the rest of the alpha assholes were dead or neutralized, Stiles and Derek really were going to have to do some re-negotiations. And look over those checklists together. And then also therapy.

He kind of hated himself for not just running away again. It hadn’t exactly been easy before, but it had felt right when he'd booked it from Wisconsin to California. But Stiles knew he couldn’t do it again, not when Scott was in danger and not even after that because Stiles _had_ to be there for his family, for his best friend and his kid. He had to look after his dad and protect him from whatever supernatural shit came through town, which seemed like it wasn’t going to stop. And that was, in part, because of Stiles and that was actually a fair argument for him to get the fuck out of town, but he _couldn’t_. Not again.

Stiles let his mind work through the possibilities as the wolves scent-marked him and absorbed the essence of the pack that probably permeated the sheets. Leaving would mean taking Derek with him because as far as Stiles knew, his anchor was set and there was no way he could change it. If he left without Derek, he wouldn’t be able to use his magic without potentially killing himself, or at least making him weak enough for whomever was after him to be able to just take him. The pack offered a unique kind of protection from that, but seeing how they viewed their role and his was not something Stiles had been expecting, especially since he’d thought he’d proven himself by defeating Peter.

So, yeah, there would definitely have to be other contracts drawn up, apparently, not just between him and Derek. Not that he was planning to engage in sexy times with the other Hales. That was. No. But everyone needed to have their voices heard and acknowledged before Stiles would feel comfortable amongst them again. He wasn’t just another tool in their arsenal that could be locked away when he wasn’t of use.

The two wolves pressed against him in their comfy bro-pile were finally starting to stir and Stiles couldn't help but grin because he'd missed them, strangely enough. Or maybe not strangely since they were pretty cool guys.

"It’s awesome to have you both home,” he said and only belatedly realized how that sounded. He’d spoken like the Hale house was his home, which it _wasn’t_. And _wouldn’t be_. Not as long as the Hales treated him like an object to be manipulated, and maybe not even after that. Stiles was too big a fan of his free agency to give it up so easily. Not again.

And despite knowing the true reasoning behind Derek's actions it still rankled him, but he let it go for the moment. There was no use getting worked up when he needed every ounce of his wits about him to figure out their next move. Because the three of them had to come up with a solid plan to put into place the moment they received the text message and _shit_ , that was _if_ they got the message.

Stiles extricated himself from the other men’s strong limbs and scrambled across the bed to the cell phone he’d tried so hard to reach earlier. He pushed the home button and his face greeted him, petulant and childish and _perfect_. He had Derek’s phone, which meant he’d still receive the text from Deucalion because his anchor the creeper hadn’t turned off his stalking software.

_Fuck_.

Unless Derek figured out he had Stiles’ phone, in which case he could absolutely take out the chip or whatever he’d put in it. Stiles supposed he’d have to rely on luck, then, which didn’t often favor him, but there really wasn’t any other alternative unless he wanted to risk exposing the fact that he’d gotten out and with that thought he whirled to face the others.

“You can’t tell them you let me free,” Stiles said quietly. “They’re plotting something and if it fails,” when it failed, “we are going to be their backup.”

Boyd gave him a level look while Isaac looked kind of curious, but he just kept glancing back and forth between them, trying to convey his utter conviction and eventually, unbelievably, they both nodded and Stiles let out a punched-out breath.

It was way more of a gamble than he was comfortable with, having so many unknown variables in play, but he had no choice, not with the deadline only a few short hours away and with him not even knowing what their probably suicidal plan was and _shit_ , they had to _think_ of something.

"We have to go to my house," he decided abruptly. It was where the mountain ash was, after all, and hopefully some inspiration.

  
  


Stiles spotted Derek's leather jacket thrown across the back of the couch and detoured to grab it because it was cold outside and he was feeling petty enough to steal it.

Again.

They took the camaro because the SUV had been acting funny the last few hundred miles and Boyd wanted Laura to check it out before they drove it again, which was fine with Stiles. He didn't even protest squeezing into the back seat because he was technically the smallest and most flexible, though his limbs were pretty long. He gave directions when needed and they were out of the woods on one of the back roads before he suddenly laughed, a bit more manically than he’d have liked, but they were operating under some pretty severe pressure.

"Talia and the rest of them has no idea you're here, do they?" he asked. He was pretty certain of the answer, but wanted to double check because he couldn’t imagine they’d have released him after the trouble Derek had gone to in locking him up if they’d known what was going on.

Isaac looked sheepish as he rubbed the back of his neck and glanced at Boyd, who just kind of seemed unflappable as always. "I mean, no, not really," Isaac said quietly. "We were going to leave Friday, but neither of us had really used our sick leave, so we were let off early. It only took a few hours to close up the house and studio, and then we hit the road. We kind of wanted it to be a surprise, but," he trailed off because yeah, clearly they hadn’t known about danger of the alpha pack, which was another mark against Talia and her intra-pack communication skills. Stiles was pretty sure that was the kind of thing that should have been broadcasted to every single pack member. A _just in case_ kind of warning and he put that on his mental list of things that would need to change if he was going to stick around. It was a pretty big _if_.

"We drove straight here," Boyd added, turning where Stiles indicated.

And that was a long trip, he didn't have to be told.

"Oh my god you guys, no wonder we cuddled for so long, you two must be exhausted," he said. Which wasn't the greatest news because everyone needed to be in top form if they were going to make it out of the inevitable confrontation alive.

Isaac twisted to look back at Stiles, a warm smile on his face. "Don't worry about it," he said, "we'll be fine."

_Uh, huh_ , Stiles didn’t say.

  
  


The mountain ash was where he'd remembered it being, in the second drawer of his mother's dresser of magic paraphernalia. His hands hovered over the rest of it, the herbs and candles and the creepy fucking knife before his fingers curled into fists and he stood too abruptly, blood rushing to his head dizzyingly and he had to press his palms to the smooth wood to keep from falling.

He wished his mother could have been there, to guide him or comfort him or anchor him or _something_ , but he was alone and she was dead. He moved a hand to run it through his hair when he heard the unmistakable sound of paper crinkling. Stiles frowned down at himself and saw a hint of white sticking out from the inner pocket of Derek's jacket. Because of course. Derek had remembered the letters when they'd left for the Hale's house the previous afternoon.

Boyd and Isaac were waiting for him in the living room, he knew, but if he was going to potentially risk his life, he wanted to know what his mother had to say to him first.

"I'll be a few more minutes," he said, knowing they could hear him, and then he extracted the letter with a shaky hand.

It was addressed to him, of course, because Derek had probably distributed the rest at some point, maybe while Stiles was tied up, maybe before that when he'd been in Talia's office with her taking Deaton's call. Whatever, it was for him and he didn't even know if he had the nerve to open it.

The last time, when he'd been a confused adolescent, his mother's words has saved him so much heartache and confusion. It only followed that the same would be the case with the letter he held in his hands.

If only he could bring himself to open it.

But a part of him was terrified.

If, when, he opened it, that would be it. Stiles would read the words, know what she wanted him to hear, and them it was like she would leave him.

Again.

There would be no more anticipation or speculation or anything else.

Because the envelope contained her last words to him. An epilogue.

So it wasn't an entirely rational thing to think, Stiles knew that, but he'd lost her before and he wasn't sure he could handle it again.

"Stiles?" Isaac's quiet voice said from the doorway and he whirled around, envelope in hand and the cautious look of compassion on his friend's face settled something in him.

Even though his life was full of chaos, Stiles still had friends and family and support and love. Reading his mother's words would help, he was certain. Her advice before had been just what he’d needed to hear, and he expected the same to happen that time. Stiles slipped his finger under the edge and gave a lopsided smile.

"It's all good, I'll be out in a few," he said and Isaac paused for a second, like he was double checking that, before he gave a nod and backed out the door.

"Alright mom, lay it on me," he whispered and felt the paper part as he slid his finger under the flap of the envelope.

He extracted the letter and marveled. Her writing was the same jagged script he'd always loved trying to decipher as a child. Sometimes when she'd write notes or shopping lists, Cyrillic words would get interspersed with the ones written in English and she'd have to cross those out and re-write them so John or Stiles could read it, too. When he’d finally managed to blink the tears out of his eyes, he took a deep breath and began to read.

 

_My dearest child_

To which Stiles had always retorted, “I’m your only child,” and his mother would roll her brown eyes and ruffle his hair with an amused sigh and a few muttered words in her native tongue that sounded suspiciously like a mantra to grant her patience, though he’d never asked to know for sure.

_It burdens my heart that I must leave you and my darling husband alone in this world of shadows and strife._

He could hear her voice in his mind, the cadence of it as her accent faded in and out like the best kind of melody. He’d loved to listen to her as she described the herbs she was growing or told him stories when they’d curled up together on the couch. Sometimes he had begged her to speak to him in Russian, just to hear the sharp sound of it, but he loved her voice regardless of what she said. Stiles had to blink back tears before he could continue.

_You must know it is wrong to allow the ones you love to suffer, so even though I was not long with you in the flesh, my spirit will always be near to guide you._

Stiles grinned despite himself. She had been there in the field, then, in his dreams. He’d known in his heart that it was her, but the confirmation made it so much more real and powerful.

_This letter comes to you at a time of upheaval, when your heart is bruised and your path is shrouded in danger._

His brow furrowed as he read that line twice more, feeling a buzz of wonder because she was right about all of that, somehow. And when he thought about his circumstances, the potent anger he’d expressed at Derek and his actions had really been covering the deep hurt he’d felt. Because Stiles knew that no one could wound him as much as someone he loved, and the realization sent a double wave of shocked sorrow through him because _of course_ he loved the dumbass and of course they were on the brink of mortal peril without a real solution in sight. As his mother said, their path was _shrouded in danger_.

_But do not let fear overcome you, my little spark-_

Stiles’ breath caught in his throat because she’d _known_? From the time he was a child, when she’d written the letter she’d known he was a spark and hadn’t told him? Hadn’t taught him or. He breathed out and continued reading before he could get too caught up in his own mental rantings.

_-you are stronger than they know and more than them cunning by half._

He was pretty cunning, but he wasn’t sure who she meant by _them_. Deucalion and the alphas? The Hales?

_My clever child, I know you feel my absence keenly, but as long as you are anchored, you will live a wonderfully fulfilling life._

And maybe that was why she hadn’t told him about magic when he was younger. He hadn’t had an anchor back then, at least he hadn’t had Derek at the time. But her words were also a warning that reinforced his sort-of plan to stick with the relationally incompetent werewolf because if he didn’t stay with Derek, _his anchor_ , bad things would happen. She hadn’t said it outright, but the implication was loud and clear.

_I know that you are suffering, that you have suffered at the hands of people, even good people, who would use you for their own gain, but you must rise above the pain and show them that you are my son and that submission is not in our nature._

Stiles’ jaw dropped. That. That was. But he’d already joined Talia’s pack. He worried his lip and came to the realization that was probably why his mother hadn’t ever agreed to be the spark for the Hales. She would not submit, which was great for her, but he’d made his commitment and. And he didn’t know what to do.

_There are a few that you may trust, however, though it is up to you to decide to what degree you are willing to compromise your agency in order to achieve peace._

He took a shuddering breath. Stiles had compromised quite a bit in his dealings with the Hales, and they had taken even more than he had willingly given. When all of it was over, he knew their negotiations for his continued association with the pack would be a tedious affair, but his mother’s words bolstered his decision to follow through with that, with his plan for some degree of reconciliation.

_As for your anchor, well, the connection between the two of you may be finicky at times-_

Which was putting it lightly.

_-but you must know by now that you share something profound. Even when the winds are tearing through your sails, when the clouds roll in across the horizon to blot out the sun and the the thunder rattles your bones until you can not hear for the cacophony, know that your anchor will ground you in reality and protect your soul from harm._

And that was what Derek had been doing, Stiles had come to realize. He had used the weapons in his arsenal, the knowledge of Stiles’ fears, to keep him away from the danger the rest of the Hales were running headlong toward it, and without one of their most surprising weapons. Him. But knowing the reasoning behind the actions did not mean Stiles forgave Derek quite so quickly, but it also didn’t negate the fact that he also needed the other man if they were going to overcome the alphas. Stiles couldn’t perform his magic without Derek and the Hales could not win their fight without Stiles. If only they could come to realize that before the showdown began, it might make things easier for everyone involved.

The letter was signed simply: _With my eternal affections, Anya._

Stiles wanted to fall to his knees and weep as he finished. He wanted to go to the field where he’d last seen her and scream her name to the heavens until she appeared again. Instead, he folded the paper with too-steady hands, slipped it back in the envelope and placed it on top of the dresser with a silent promise to return for it later.

When the thing was done.

  
  


Boyd and Isaac were pretending to be interested in the pictures on the sofa table he’d pushed back against the wall in seventh grade when he and Scott had knocked it over one too many times leaping over the back of the couch instead of going around it like civilized human beings. Some of the frames were cracked, he knew, and a few were even missing the glass that had protected the pictures, again because of the whole jumping thing, but all in all it told a fairly accurate story of his early life. The ones featuring his mother had gradually been placed further toward the front of the table, like he and his dad were making sure she had a good view of what was going on in their lives.

Isaac was holding his favorite, it was from when his mother still looked healthy with her long brown hair and sunny smile. She had on a flowing purple dress with Stiles perched on her hip even though he was about six years old, then-deputy Stilinski’s arm was slung over her shoulder as he tickled under Stiles’ chin so he was grinning widely and had his head tucked against his mom’s neck to try to get away from the sensation. Behind them was the back corner of the house and he remembered Melissa taking the picture, Scott wrapped around one of her legs like a monkey because he’d wanted to go inside and get the watermelon they had promised they’d eat for an afternoon snack before firing up the grill for a cook out later that evening. It was a powerfully good memory and even though he missed his mother to a painful degree, he still treasured every moment he’d had with her.

“Are you-” Isaac started to ask, but Stiles’ grin seemed to cut him off before he could finish the question.

“I’m good, and I think I have a plan, if you’re both willing to help me out.”

Boyd crossed his arms and widened his stance, like Derek had earlier and Stiles was momentarily afraid the other man _wasn’t going to help him_ , but then he nodded curtly. “What have you got for us?” he asked and Stiles swore he saw a twitch of a smile on the man’s lips.

It was a good sign, he decided, and laid out what he was thinking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, there were some very powerful reactions to the last chapter! I'm so impressed by the passion you all have and how so many of you sided with Stiles. Just. Wow.  
> I want you all to know that I absolutely feel your pain and angst and rage because I have experienced every single one of those emotions to the point that I couldn't sleep last night until I wrote almost all of tonight's chapter. There isn't some kind of miracle cure for what's happened between Stiles and Derek. No one is going to escape this (emotionally) unscathed, but hopefully a lot of your questions about how it's going to be dealt with are answered in this chapter. The solution certainly won't please everyone, but it's the path Stiles chooses to take.  
> (And I adore you all, thank you so much for commenting! Your opinions feed the narrative and my creative spirit!)


	30. Chapter 30

There was some debate about the merits of Stiles’ basic plan, of course. A lot of debate. Which included withering looks and the questioning of Stiles’ sanity-

_Which he didn’t appreciate._

-and more than one motion to reach for a cell phone, but somehow Stiles slowly began to appeal to Boyd and Isaac’s love of their pack, and then to their rationality when he detailed just how horribly things could turn out if the alphas somehow managed to kill Talia. Because that was what was driving them, which Stiles could appreciate, their loyalty to their alpha just like Stiles was obsessively concerned about the well-being of his best friend. And so, eventually, Boyd and Isaac agreed to go along with Stiles, at least for the time being.

It was exactly what he’d expected, and was really all he needed. He was convinced that as soon as the shit inevitably hit the fan they’d be completely swayed by his approach and would help him save the day.

As long as it all worked out like he hoped it would.

There was a slight wrinkle in that Stiles didn’t know what Talia plan was, but he could guess. Judging by how the Hales and their packmates had stormed the warehouse in Wisconsin he imagined it would follow along those lines, all blunt force and rash actions, charging ahead with fangs out and eyes blazing. And really, that made a lot of sense.

“Talia was never a human, was she?” he asked. Boyd and Isaac were sitting side-by-side on the couch and he was perched on the sofa chair so he could face them. Isaac turned to Boyd, who shook his head slowly.

“Rollin?” Stiles asked and received the same answer. He chewed on his bottom lip for a moment and finally exhaled sharply. “Okay, so here’s the problem with that. They’re going to go in, metaphorical guns blazing, right?”

That earned him a nod from both of them.

“Right,” he nodded as well, his theory holding true. “And I’m assuming the alphas are born wolves as well, but without their pedigrees, okay that was a terrible dog joke, don’t tell anyone I said that,” Isaac actually smirked at him, “So without their backgrounds we don’t know for sure, but we can assume they’re going to go for the same kind of blunt-force tactics.”

“Agreed,” Boyd said, crossing his arms over his chest, but he looked intrigued by Stiles’ ramblings instead of put-off or defensive. That was a good sign.

“So,” Stiles said, spreading his hands, “we should try a different tactic, don’t you think?”

Isaac tilted his head and Stiles was pretty sure being that attractive could help them open many doors and _that_ was something to keep in mind during their upcoming rescue mission.

“First of all, this is all so we can save Scott and the pack,” Stiles said, looking from Isaac to Boyd and back. “Do we agree on that?”

They both nodded.

“Okay, so what are we willing to do to accomplish those goals?”

“Anything,” the two men said in unison.

Stiles hesitated for a second before nodding. “Fair enough, and of course I’d do anything for Scott, so yeah. Good to know we’re all on the same page. But that brings us to a point where I’m going to make a suggestion that might challenge you. Maybe not your conviction, per se, but your ability to do so on this little team we have going on.”

Boyd looked suspicious, which was a pretty common facial expression for him, so Stiles didn’t take it personally. Isaac just looked a bit wary.

And if they didn’t agree with his plan, Stiles wasn’t sure what they would do. He needed them and their enhanced senses, he knew, as much as they needed him and his magic, for as long as he could keep it up until he drained his mystical battery and would have to rely on Derek to recharge him, unless Derek got his dumb ass killed charging into the fray of super-powered alphas. Stiles imagined the worst case scenario involving him begging for Derek’s life and volunteering to go with them to spare the others, but he was pretty sure it wouldn’t come to that.

He fucking hoped not.

Which brought him around to his point. They needed some allies.

“What if I told you I know a retired hunter who has more guns than the local sheriff’s department?” he asked, testing the waters and Boyd’s suspicion turned into a cloudy kind of discontent.

“What kind of a hunter?” he asked like he already knew the answer and suddenly Isaac’s face became closed off as well.

So that probably hadn’t been the best way to approach that particular topic.

“Let me rephrase. Scott’s father-in-law, the grandfather of his future child, is an Argent,” he got a couple of golden eye-flashes when he said that name, “but before you freak out let me explain. He’s not a hunter anymore, but he is a weapons expert and he probably knows a lot about what we’re facing. We can’t go to Deaton without alerting Talia, and we can’t go to anyone in the pack, either. They wanted to _lock me away_ , remember? Supposedly to keep me safe? Yeah, that’s not going to work, not against a group of alphas, and we all know it.”

They didn’t seem to be budging in their reticence.

“Okay, so how about this. We go over to his place, we explain what’s going on, we listen to his advice and then we take it or leave it. How about that?”

“What if he shoots us?” Isaac asked, twitching his shoulder so it grazed Boyd’s. He was uncomfortable with the whole thing, Stiles didn’t need super-senses to figure that out.

“I know the bullet and fire healing trick,” Stiles said, scrunching his nose and trying too hard, but he wasn’t really sure what else to say to convince them about going to Chris. If they didn’t want to go to him, then Stiles would do it himself and hope they could coordinate after that.

It was a pretty big _if_ , since he didn’t even know if he should use Derek’s phone or not.

A phone that had been buzzing off and on throughout the afternoon with messages from his dad and Allison and he was going to be in a lot of trouble with both of them after the shitshow was over with.

_Fuck_.

Boyd was the one who finally huffed out a breath and nodded. “Fine, we can go to the retired hunter. But his ass better be _retired_ , Stiles, and then we’ll make a plan. There’s no way we can take out the alphas on our own, not without some real firepower.”

By which he meant wolfsbane-laced bullets like the ones he’d been shot with.

“I’ll go grab some lighters, just in case,” Stiles decided and sprinted up to his room to get them, along with the aluminum bat he’d thrown in the back of his closet when he’d lost interest in baseball sometime around his freshman year of high school when he’d discovered lacrosse was a thing.

In the privacy of his room he allowed himself a triumphant smile because things were actually looking up.

  
  
  


“You’re a spark?” Chris Argent asked with an incredulous tone, his face twisted into a mask of disbelief. He hadn’t even let them in the door of his apartment, apparently knowing that the two guys flanking Stiles were werewolves. Somehow. Then again he’d been raised to be a _werewolf hunter_ , so that probably shouldn’t have been too much of a surprise.

Stiles rocked back on his heels, hands fisted in the pockets of Derek’s leather jacket and he realized the three of them looked like extras in a greaser movie. Or like the bad kind of hipsters, though Isaac totally rocked his scarf.

“Yeah,” he said with a shrug, “I’m a spark, there’s an alpha pack after me, and my pack, sans these two awesome individuals, are probably about to run straight into a pretty gruesome trap. So, are you going to help or not?” He deliberately left out the part about Scott being bitten because he wasn’t sure how that would go down, what with the potential werewolfiness in his future. Besides, the other alternative was too dire to think about.

Chris’ eyes narrowed, but he stepped back far enough to allow them inside, watching Boyd and Isaac like a hawk as he shut and locked the door behind them, then indicated the open doorway of his office. He didn’t speak again until he’d settled in his chair, elbows perched on the arms while his fingers steepled in front of his lips as he studied the beautiful inlay design on the top of his desk.

When he finally spoke, it was to to the werewolves. “My assistance depends on how you answer my question,” he finally said and first Boyd, then Isaac nodded reluctantly, their eyes almost constantly darting around the room like they were cataloguing the various dangers, but Stiles just saw artwork and pieces of pottery and other decorative things, so he wasn’t sure what all the twitchiness was about. Well, except for the fact that there was a hopefully-retired werewolf hunter sitting across from them. That was actually a good reason to be nervous. Not that he thought Chris would do anything. At least he hoped not.

“Go on,” Stiles prompted, really wanting to get the show on the road and all that jazz. They had to get some shit ready before the epic showdown of terrible took place. He checked the phone and they only had a little more than an hour.

“I want to know which of you killed my sister,” Chris said with a deadly kind of calm.

Isaac tilted his head in confusion, then looked to Boyd, who was staring at Chris unflappably, but Stiles could tell he was kind of lost as well.

“Uh, if I may interject,” he said, raising his hand and Chris finally glanced at him. “Yeah, neither of these guys did it, I can assure you because I was there, remember? Isaac wasn’t even in that part of the warehouse and Boyd was recovering from being shot in a circle of mountain ash I made around him.”

“You can manipulate mountain ash?” Chris asked skeptically and Stiles was getting tired of being underestimated by every single person he knew. It was getting super fucking annoying.

He rolled his eyes. “Yes, which is fortunate because that’s going to be part of our plan tonight. Anyway, neither of them did it. It was," he had to pause to swallow because the next part was kind of hard to get out after the events that had taken place earlier that day, "it was my mate who killed her because she threatened me. Okay? Can we get on with this, now?”

“Your _mate_?” Chris asked and he was well and truly stunned, his hands falling limp and his head jerking back like Stiles had flicked his nose or something.

Stiles looked him in the eyes. They were pale like own father's, but a more steely sort of blue. He debated for a second as to whether he should pull back the collars of Derek’s jacket and shirt to show the mark at the juncture of his neck and shoulder, but then decided against it. There was no need to get that personal with things, not with the _retired_ hunter. Besides, he wasn’t certain if the wolf deserved to keep his claim in such a prominent spot, not after what he’d done to Stiles in the name of protection. And that was kind of a weird thought, actually. Stiles wasn’t sure where that had come from, but it didn’t change his view of things.

_Huh_.

He cleared his throat and nodded evenly. "Derek Hale killed your sister before she could kill me. Kate wanted me because I'm a spark, and now the alpha pack is after me for the same reason," and _shit_ he realized Chris probably didn't know about his dad and they _didn't have time_ to get into it, but Stiles refused to allow any of them to be in the dark because that was a terrible strategy.

He mentally side-eyed Talia before he cleared his throat and continued. "Chris, I think Gerard was the mastermind behind what happened at the warehouse. He kidnapped my flatmate, Charlie, whom he'd gotten to spy on me. Because of that he and Kate knew I was friends with the Hales and wanted to get me away from them so I'd join their cause or something. Kate also talked about stealing your future grandchild, but I don't know what her endgame was."

The other man looked pained. "She was probably going to sacrifice you and imbue your spirit with the child's. The spell was in one of the books Gerard had in the house when we were children."

They'd grown up reading _spell books_? Stiles felt a flash of envy before he realized that was probably exactly what his mother's books were, too, the ones written in Russian and he wished they’d had time to get at least some of them translated before the mess had begun, but there was no helping it.

Also, _what the fuck was that_? Imbue the kid with his _spirit_?

_Who did that?_

"There's more," Stiles said, leaning forward in his seat. "Gerard had a captured alpha bite Charlie, who turned and killed that alpha. Then Gerard pitted Charlie against Boyd with me and some mountain ash in the middle. But then, during the fight Gerard was bitten by Charlie, whom he then killed."

Chris' expression was so carefully neutral Stiles was certain he was feeling frantic or sorrowful or enraged or _some_ kind of powerful emotion and just didn't want to betray that to them. He nodded curtly instead of speaking and Stiles kind of flailed his hands for a second before continuing.

"Right, uh, there was the thing with Kate, I summoned lightning, uh, oh before that my mountain ash barrier repelled Gerard and he flew and hit a vat or wall or something. That was right after he'd been bitten and shot Charlie in the head a lot, and I thought he was dead." Stiles didn't go into how he'd then frisked both of the bodies because that was creepy.

"Where is Gerard now?" Chris asked, but his expression said he had an idea is it already.

Stiles glanced from Isaac to Boyd, they were still tense, but neither were flashing their fangs or eyes or claws, so he took that as a good sign. When he looked back at Chris he felt buoyed, confident that the four of them could actually have a chance of winning.

He hoped.

"I made a mountain ash circle around him, but when it was broken he escaped. I think Gerard has joined, or wants to join, the alpha pack, but I’m not sure. Deucalion has Scott, we got the ransom call earlier today and Talia thought it would be safer to lock me up than to bring me along for the fight."

Chris scoffed. "You're probably one of the only people who could take down that bastard head on," he said and what?

"Wait, what? You _know_ about that alpha douche?” That was new information.

“I was a hunter for years, Stiles, I know more about the packs around the country than most werewolves. Of course I know about the guy who killed his entire pack in order to gain more power, and of course I know he’s been recruiting other alphas who he’d manipulated into doing the same. I don’t doubt Gerard would join them if given the chance, if only so he could kill Deucalion himself and gain even more power.”

Stiles’ eyebrows were in danger of merging with his hairline, he was pretty sure.

That was important information.

“What else do you know about them?” Stiles asked, and settled back in his chair because gathering information was a necessary use of the short time they had left, even if his entire body was thrumming with the need to _do_.

But that would happen soon, so he waited and listened and bided his time.

  
  


Stiles probably should have expected Allison to show up at her dad’s door after the number of calls both he and her dad had ignored from her. Chris certainly should have, since he’d raised her from birth and knew just how tenacious she could be when she had a goal in mind. Which was apparently getting in contact with them. Stiles, at least, had the excuse of not wanting Derek to know he had the other man’s phone, which was why he hadn’t answered any of her calls or increasingly short and misspelled texts. He wasn’t really sure why Chris had chosen to ignore his daughter, but whatever, she was there. And really, the wicked-looking collapsible crossbow in her hands was actually entirely predictable given the circumstances.

Which said a lot about Allison.

“So, uh,” Stiles said, hands automatically going up as she stalked past him and came to an abrupt halt in front of the two werewolves who took up a large portion of the hallway. Chris carefully closed and locked the door, not even making any move to introduce their guests.

The ass.

“Yeah,” Stiles continued, sidling up beside Isaac, who was closer to him and also looking a bit panicky. “These are my friends Isaac and Boyd, they’re going to help us rescue Scott.”

Allison frowned at him, finally dragging her eyes off the werewolves and Boyd took the opportunity to get a grip on Isaac’s arm and pull him back a step into the office. Almost as if they were going to close the door and barricade themselves inside and things were getting out of hand.

“Okay,” Stiles said, his hands becoming more animated where they were still in the air. “Fine, we’ll give you the short version because _we really don’t have time for this right now_. In thirty or so minutes, at sunset, we’re going to be text an address with your husband’s location. He’s being held by an alpha pack, which are alpha werewolves, you know about werewolves? Good. They’re alphas who have killed their entire packs and are supercharged or something. So. The Hales are going to be our diversion, though they don’t know it, and we’re going to charge in there and save the day. Also, I know magic. Questions?”

It kind of looked like she wanted to ask him if he was drunk, but then she glanced at her dad and must have gotten some kind of signal from him because her whole body relaxed. “Only standard ones, but we need to come up with a strategy right now if we’re going to save Scott. And none of you even think about trying to use my pregancy against me because I will shoot you. And it won’t even kill you, it’ll just hurt.” She looked a little deranged, so Stiles just nodded quickly. There was no way in hell he was going to try to do anything of the kind.

Allison was kind of a badass.

No one else tried to dissuade her from joining them, either, and they congregated around Chris’ desk like they knew what they were doing. They didn’t, really, but Stiles liked to pretend it was going to be fine despite that minor detail.

And really, with Allison their odds were even better. He’d seen her shoot a bow and knew just how he wanted to incorporate her into their plans. If only they knew where the hell they’d be having the showdown.

“So here’s what I’m thinking,” Stiles said, following her into the room and holding back a grin. He was suddenly glad his dad had insisted they play chess so often when he was a kid. Strategy? He could handle that, especially since they’d acquired their much-needed firepower.

Stiles could feel the magic like energy buzzing under his skin.

_Soon_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I understand that some might find this chapter dull, but it's all about communication, right?   
> Also, one does not fuck with the queen of arrows and badassery.


	31. Chapter 31

Precisely at sundown, the phone resting in the center of Chris’ desk vibrated. Stiles immediately pressed the screen and they all craned their necks to get a look at the address and _what_?

“The old hospital?” Stiles said, glancing around, but of course none of them knew Beacon Hills like he did, so he just kind of got blank looks as they quickly typed the address into their own phones to look up the location.

That building had been condemned a few years before he’d been born, but the city hadn’t bothered to spend the money to tear it down or repair it, so the place had just deteriorated over the years. Stiles may or may not have ventured into it with Scott on a few occasions after school when they were supposed to have gone straight to the actual hospital across the street to wait for Melissa to get off of work. From what he remembered it was pretty much just an empty husk of a building with too many doors that locked automatically behind them for him and Scott to feel safe enough to explore more than the few places on the ground floor that had broken-out windows and were layered with graffiti. And yeah, the place was pretty much nightmare fuel for Stiles.

_Fuck_.

But after checking it, Chris nodded curtly and hefted a weapons-packed duffle bag onto his shoulder. “Right, I’m taking Boyd, you three go in the other car,” he said, which is what they’d agreed upon earlier so everyone just silently followed him out of the apartment, Allison with her crossbow collapsed and tucked under her arm like it was nothing at all out of the ordinary. Maybe it wasn't, since the old guy who got into the elevator a floor below the Argent’s didn't seem to be at all alarmed by it. He even greeted Allison by name and complimented her on the weapon.

Because of course he did.

_Argents_ , Stiles thought with a mental eyeroll.

Isaac drove with Allison up front and Stiles squeezed in the backseat. They'd just pulled out of the parking lot when Stiles couldn't hold it in any longer.

"Why did you show up to your dad's place armed?" he asked her and Isaac glanced over at her, too.

She shrugged easily. "To show him that I'm not easy to ignore," she said. It kind of sounded like it wasn't the first time that had happened, either.

They had a really weird family dynamic. Then again Stiles and his dad watched ball games together over the phone so they could talk about their feelings without getting embarrassed. But really, Stiles supposed that was pretty normal, so whatever.

“Right,” he said slowly, then used Isaac's phone to dial Boyd and put it on speaker.

"Listening," the man’s gruff voice said and Stiles nodded even though he and Chris couldn't see it because he did stupid shit like that sometimes.

_Whatever_.

"Okay, the building is old and condemned, the ground floor is basically gutted, but there's a lot more of it that I've never been in. Two more floors at least, but more likely three." He tried to think of salient points, his fingers of his hand not holding the phone tapping on the aluminum shaft of the bat. "Doors lock automatically behind you, so we're going to have to prop them or be willing to break them down to get out. It shares the same campus as the current hospital, though, and if we make too much noise someone will hear, so keep that in mind. It was condemned in the 80s, so, yeah, we should probably all watch our step."

"How does this impact our plan?" Isaac asked as he followed every traffic rule and speed limit like Stiles has instructed him. Ahead, Chris was doing the same because a lot of people got nabbed for bigger crimes, like transporting probably illegal firearms, while committing smaller ones, like speeding.

"It shouldn't,” Stiles said with a shrug, “except Allison's going to have to be more flexible in where she shoots from. It's a hospital, so there are going to be long corridors and probably not many open spaces. Certainly none with any kind of a vantage point."

"I'll be fine," she said mildly and Stiles was suddenly reminded of Talia. And that kind of tone was alarming no matter who used it, he decided.

"Remember that the Hales don't know we're coming, but that Deucalion expects me, so he'll probably have some kind of centralized location where he's keeping Scott as bait. Which means the others will be there, too.”

Allison made an angry noise that sounded kind of like a growl and Isaac's hands tightened on the steering wheel.

"Don't worry, Alli," Stiles said quietly, putting his hand on her shoulder and squeezing lightly, "I already promised to destroy the guy, I've got this."

"Not if I get him first," she said, looking over her shoulder and quirking an eyebrow challengingly and Stiles had to grin in response.

"Oh, it's so on," he said, and he could hear Boyd sigh. Whatever, they were going to fuck up some douchey alpha werewolves.

His fucking _life_.

  
  


They parked in the actual hospital parking lot and crossed the little-used street to the side of the decrepit building that had once served the illustrious role of being the town's nuclear fallout shelter, but those metal signs had long since been pried off the impersonal concrete exterior.

Not that Stiles knew anything about that.

One of the windows along the side was almost completely clear and they stepped over the sill and into the shadowed interior and _fuck_ , Stiles hadn't taken that into account.

"We're not going to be able to see," he said because someone had to point out the obvious, though it kind of sucked being _that guy_. The _we've got a problem_ guy. He was a much bigger fan of being the _solution_ guy, but then Chris was pressing something into his free hand and he was confused for a second by the hard plastic and elastic straps-

_Strapon?_

-before he realized what it was. "Night vision goggles?" he asked, incredulous and impressed. "Problem solved." Apparently.

"You don't want to have your eyes open when I shoot the flash-bangs," Allison warned, deftly slipping hers over her head.

After Stiles flailed and nearly choked himself with it Boyd wrestled his from him, pressed it onto his head and adjusted the straps so it wouldn't slip. The world instantly took on a kind of video-game quality took to it. The shadows disappeared and when he looked up, Boyd and Isaac's eyes were glowing faintly. Which was probably why Chris had only provided then for the humans. Werewolves didn't need help enhancing their senses.

Because of course they didn't.

"You guys hear anything?" Stiles asked as he took the holy water or whatever it was in the flask Chris handed to him. He took the container of mountain ash his mom had kept squirreled away for all those years out of his pocket, popped it open and poured the liquid into it. Stiles couldn't tell for sure, not with the goggles distorting his perception of color, but the liquid seemed somehow thicker than water and darker.

_Whatever_.

He capped the jar and tipped it back and forth like Chris had told him to, mixing it up.

"I think there are some people upstairs," Isaac said quietly and then looked to Boyd for confirmation, which he immediately gave.

“At least two floors up,” he elaborated.

Which was pretty much what they’d expected.

Stiles nodded and gripped the bat in one hand and the jar in the other. “So we’re still good with the plan?” he asked. All four of them nodded and he couldn’t help the feeling of relief. “Okay, there should be more than one stairwell in a building this size, don’t you think?”

Chris silently unzipped the duffle bag and drew out a pair of huge guns. They looked military-grade. “Isaac and I will go to the other side of the building and try to find a way up, you, Allison and Boyd stick to this side and meet us where the fight is. When we see an opening we take it.”

“As long as we stay back and assess the situation before going in,” Stiles reminded them all because while they all seemed pretty ready and willing to join the fray, he was still dubious about how things would turn out if there were too many bodies in the mix. Especially since a handful of those bodies were super-charged alpha werewolves who had a proven history of murder.

“And then we kick some ass,” Allison said, one hand over her shoulder, fingers running delicately across the ends of the arrows there.

Stiles grinned.

They were _totally_ going to kick some ass.

  
  


Which was easier said than done because the hospital was a veritable maze of shit. It had been shut down for years, but was apparently still used as a kind of storage facility or dumping ground for whatever crap couldn’t be easily discarded by the functioning hospital across the street; from old gurneys to lab equipment, piles and piles of sheets with some gross-looking stains on them, which made Boyd grunt and wrinkle his nose, it was a complete mess. Which meant it took them several long minutes to navigate a path to where they assumed the stairwell would be, and by then Stiles was stress-sweating, his hands slippery on the glass in one hand and the aluminium in the other and he really wanted to just set them down for a second to wipe of his palms, but they also needed to find out where the hell things were going down so they’d be in position to save the day or whatever.

It was frustrating.

Allison took the lead, though, so that was okay because she picked a really clear path, which Stiles wouldn’t ever have been able to do since he was still acclimating to the weird night-vision look of things. She also moved as quietly as Boyd, tiptoeing over the detris soundlessly while Stiles kind of bumbled along, but whatever, he wasn’t raised by a freaking weapons expert or by wolves. Well, so the sheriff was a good shot, but he wasn’t Rambo-levels of badass, nor was he a magical creature who could sprout fangs. At least Stiles was pretty sure of that.

They eventually found the stairwell and ran into their first challenge besides all the crap that had blocked their way there. The door was locked.

Because of course it was.

“Move aside,” Stiles whispered and they shifted so he could crouch in front of the lock. It didn’t seem rusted, which was a plus, so he set his jar and bat on the ground and dug out the lock-picking kit he’d grabbed when he’d gone to fetch the lighters earlier and that his father definitely didn’t know about. It took a few tries to get back into the rhythm of it, but then muscle memory took over and he felt the tumblers give as he finally managed to move the picks and unlock it. Boyd grabbed the handle and pulled it back far enough for Stiles to ease the picks out, and he extracted them with a flourish, waggling his eyebrows at Allison, who probably rolled her eyes in response, but he couldn’t tell with the goggles.

“Yes we’re impressed by your skills, now move over so we can get in there,” she whispered and Stiles stuck his tongue out because he was petty.

She returned the gesture, though, so at least they were at the same maturity level.

As soon as Stiles was out of the way Boyd slipped past him, followed by Allison and Stiles hastily gathered his things and paused to wedge some kind of a container that had probably at one point held medical supplies between the door and the jam so it wouldn’t close behind them. Not that it would be an issue to get out, he belatedly realized as he followed them up the mostly clear stairs, but whatever. At least that way it would be a silent getaway if it came to that, no having to push the bar on the door to get through to the other side. Though it also granted anyone on the ground floor access to the stairwell, so that was a bit worrisome. Stiles was contemplating that as they were about to reach the second floor when a dark blur erupted from the open doorway at the top floor, which Stiles assumed was the roof access point.

Boyd tensed, Allison nocked an arrow, and Stiles rolled his eyes.

  
  


He really should have predicted that Derek would meet them in the stairwell, since the guy could apparently hear Stiles’ heartbeat all the time, but he couldn’t have anticipated how wrecked the werewolf looked. His shirt was slashed across the front in several place, his exposed skin splattered with blood, probably his own, and he looked pretty much terrified as he flung himself down the steps and stumbled past Boyd to a stop on the landing in front of Stiles, trembling and heaving for breath.

It made Stiles’ hair stand on end and his stomach clench because while he knew the Hales were _probably_ getting beaten up by the alphas he hadn’t actually thought about it in real life terms. He certainly hadn’t expected all of the _blood_.

“Why are you here?” Derek whisper-demanded, which sounded kind of silly, actually, then turned his bright blue eyes to glare up at Boyd, whom he’d passed in his frantic leaping and was several steps ahead of him. And he was looking at the bigger guy like it was all his fault or something, and suddenly Stiles didn’t feel quite so awful.

Because _really_. Derek was so slow, sometimes.

“Want me to shoot him?” Allison asked from beside Boyd. She’d crouched behind him as soon as they’d heard Derek and had her bow and arrow trained on him with a casual kind of violent air.

Stiles totally considered it, but eventually gave a dismissive shrug. “Kind of, but maybe later. I can see you’ve already managed to have gotten your ass handed to you,” he said, gesturing to all the blood, but at least it looked like the werewolf had healed. That was marginally less frightening and unfairly cool.

Derek’s frown deepened, his eyes no longer glowing so brightly and his features looked normal, unshifted, though his expression was still tinged with anguish. “Stiles you can’t be here,” he hissed. Because he was a dick.

“Go fuck yourself,” Stiles replied calmly, then, with a dramatic wave of his bat and a voice chuck-full of false pep, “We’re here to save the day.” He would have thrown in a yay and some jazz hands, but that seemed a bit excessive.

And that didn’t seem to impress Derek very much, but _fuck_ Derek, they were totally going to win. Because Stiles was there and had brought reinforcements.

_Like a boss_ , his mind supplied in Scott’s voice and he silently agreed.

“Turn around and go home,” Derek demanded, crowding closer without touching Stiles and he really should have done his mountain ash magic trick earlier. “Go down to the basement and lock yourself in one of the cells.”

Which, _what_?

“I beg your unbelievable pardon, but that shit’s not gonna happen. Now you can either make yourself useful and lead us to the main event, or you can back the fuck off because we’re going upstairs and you are not stopping us.” Stiles somehow managed to say it all calmly, which was a feat because he was starting to feel the familiar low-grade churnings of rage deep in his core, like a warming pool of liquid metal and electricity and yeah, that was good, he could use that for when he decimated Deucalion.

“No,” Derek said, going so far as to cross his arms and widen his stance like he was literally going to stand his ground and not let Stiles pass.

_Unbelievable_.

“Can you believe this guy?” he asked Boyd and Allison. They couldn’t, and they were also starting to inch their way up the stairs. “Yeah, go on,” he muttered, waving them up, “I’ll take care of this myself, but leave some bad guys for me, I want to practice my magic on them.”

And really, he could absolutely use force to blast Derek away from him, but Stiles had to consider his energy expenditure in the face of both the known and unknown dangers the alpha pack posed. Plus, history showed that his little party trick made an awful lot of noise, which wouldn’t do in the confined space of the stairwell, not unless it became a necessity.

Derek wasn’t budging.

Because he was a _dick_.

“We appear to be at an impasse,” Stiles said. He was _really_ regretting not taking the time to use the mountain ash, already, but Chris had said it needed a few minutes to mix with whatever liquid he’d added, so whatever. He could wait, he just hoped he’d still have time to utilize it after he finished getting past Derek.

_Somehow_.

“You’re going home,” Derek repeated like a broken fucking record.

Stiles scoffed and gave a lopsided grin, which probably looked weird since he was wearing the goggles, but it also might give him a futuristic kind of vibe, so that was cool. “I’m really not,” he said and could tell Derek recognized that he wasn’t lying.

_I’m totally staying_ , he thought, as loudly as he could.

The eyebrows didn’t like that. Neither did the rest of Derek’s face. “You’re not safe here,” he said, clearly attempting to try another tactic.

“I’m not safe _anywhere_ ,” he countered, “Not as long as there are alpha assholes out to steal me away. So you can either help me, or get the fuck out of my way so I can take care of business. This is not a negotiation, you lost that right the moment you manhandled me and then handcuffed me to the bed, alone in a strange house with no way to protect myself. We’re lucky Boyd and Isaac were able to come home early or I probably would have accidentally burned myself alive trying to get out of there.”

It was possible that Derek was going to throw up.

“So you’re going to make a decision. Help me, or leave me alone.” And they both knew he wasn’t just talking about their current situation in the stairwell. Stiles was giving him an ultimatum, which he was loathe to do, but Derek had painted him into one too many corners for there to be any other options.

“I didn’t want to leave you,” Derek said quietly, pained.

“You did, though,” Stiles pointed out, anxious to get it the fuck over with so he could _do something_ , so he could _save Scott_. They were _wasting time_ and he didn’t appreciate it, but it was still important enough that he forced himself still.

Derek shifted his weight from foot to foot and Stiles realized he wasn’t wearing shoes and _that_ was weird, but whatever. He was a werewolf, they did weird things. Like handcuff their mates to beds in misguided efforts to keep them out of danger. Totally misguided. Criminally so, really.

“Mother thought it would be best to keep you in the house,” Derek finally admitted. He was speaking so quietly Stiles had to concentrate on his lips to make sure he understood. “I would never do anything like that to you if I thought there was an alternative.”

Stiles’ frustration came back, twice as strong and he blinked rapidly to keep from succumbing to the angry tears that threatened. “The alternative was including me in at least the planning portion of your pack’s suicide mission,” he said roughly, “but you didn’t even allow me that. So I chose a different team to play with and we’re going to unleash hell. Now step the fuck aside or come with me so we can end this and save my best friend. This is the last time I’m offering you a choice, Derek.”

It looked like it caused him physical pain, but Derek eventually chose wisely and led the way up the stairs.

It wasn’t much, but it was a start.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been re-reading Salutations or Something and wow, that angst pales in comparison to what we have going on now.
> 
> But in Derek's defense (not that his actions are forgivable regardless of the explanation), he sees the world in simple terms.   
> He is not a man (werewolf) of complexity. He sees a problem, thinks of one solution, and goes for it. He also follows directions because that's who he is, a soldier (beta), not a general (alpha). Still not quite sure how I feel about canon!Derek giving up his alpha-dom, though...guess we'll see what happens in 2014!  
> But also, he's a dummy. So there's that.
> 
> Also, fair warning that the more intense the chapter (like probably the next one), the longer it takes for me to get all the details right, which means there MIGHT be a delay in posting...maybe...we'll see!


	32. Chapter 32

They bypassed the second floor and went to the third, even though Derek had emerged from the fourth when he’d done his stair leaping routine, but whatever, Stiles was largely unfamiliar with the layout of the place, so third floor it was. Also, he wasn’t actually sure where Allison and Boyd had gotten to, so he figured they were following behind the pair.

The hallway they emerged into wasn’t nearly as cluttered as the first, which was probably to be expected because Stiles assumed there weren’t working elevators in the place and no one wanted to drag heavy shit up the stairs. He wasn’t even sure if the place even had elevators since it had been built back around the founding of Beacon Hills with money from the gold rush, at least according to his sophomore civics class with Coach Finstock, so that was maybe not quite true. Finstock also liked to say that the Beacon Hills conservatory, built in the 60s, was full of ghosts so whatever. Dude was not playing with a full deck. Stiles followed Derek’s path carefully, on the lookout for anyone else, but he didn’t see a sign of anyone having had been there.

_At all._

He slowed because that was kind of weird, actually. The two of them were definitely leaving footprints in the gritty dust and _fuck_.

“If you’re luring me somewhere with the intent of locking me in an empty room in some misguided attempt to keep me safe I will not hesitate to defend myself using magic,” Stiles said as he came to an abrupt halt several steps behind the other man.

Derek whirled around and the look of guilt on his face said everything he couldn’t seem to get out verbally.

“Oh for _fuck’s sake_ Derek,” Stiles whispered and would have rubbed his hands over his face, but they were both occupied and he had on the goggles and he couldn’t _believe_ the dumbass in front of him. “You’re a dumbass,” he couldn’t help but point out, kind of flabbergasted by the whole affair. “You’re dumb, you make dumb decisions and you’re an _asshole_. Do you honestly think you can keep me out of this? My best friend, who is like a _brother_ to me, has been _bitten_ by an _alpha werewolf_. He could be _dying_ right now and you’re busy fucking around trying to keep me from him? Do you see why I have a problem with this?”

The constipated look on Derek’s face said he did, indeed, understand Stiles’ perspective, but there was still some conflict going on there.

“It’s not your job to protect me,” Stiles said softly and he might as well have just slapped Derek. He was pretty sure the man’s stunned expression would have been the same either way. It had to be said, though, even if it hurt.

But of course Derek couldn’t concede the point so easily. “Stiles,” he said taking a step closer, then seemed to physically stop himself from closing the distance between them, which was good because Stiles wasn’t sure what he would have done otherwise. Probably something violent. “You’re my mate and my anchor, if something happens to you, if they take you from me, I’ll be lost.” His voice was rough with emotion, but Stiles couldn’t help his frown.

“So you think _locking me up_ is going to keep me safe? Derek, I’m not some princess in a fairy tale and I’m not just your mate and anchor. I’m an _independent person_ with deep-seated trust issues and you have _repeatedly_ violated that trust. I get that you think you need to defend me from other people, from these douchey werewolves, but _you're_ the one who keeps hurting me," and he couldn't keep the rawness from his own voice, the honesty and pain and woundedness. Because he was telling the truth and from the poleaxed look on Derek’s face he knew it, too.

“Stiles,” he said, and the word alone made Stiles’ chest quiver with the urge to scream or cry or something because it sounded like it had been torn out of him. Like Stiles was actively hurting, slicing him up like the previous wounds that must have littered his chest.

But he lifted his head, exposing his throat in a way that was not an offer. “I’m asking you to support me in this, Derek. You either help me or you get the fuck out of my way,” he said with a kind of steel in his voice that, before all of the chaos over the past fucking week of his fucked up life, would have been utterly foreign. It was real though, the authority in his tone, the unwillingness to yield.

Derek’s lips were parted in what could conceivably be a look of shock, and he licked them before releasing a kind of startled breath. “I-”

"What a lovely sight," a woman's voice interrupted and they both jolted, spinning to face where the voice was emerging from in a doorway down the hall.

She stepped out so they could see her in the eerie darkness. She was athletic-looking with toned arms and long legs and bare feet which Stiles was pretty sure sported claws and _that_ was kind of gross, but also dangerous in the probably inevitable event that she attack. Her hands were clawed, too, because of course they were. Her eyes glowed different from Derek’s and Stiles assumed it was because they were red. Fangs peeked out from between her lips as she smirked at them.

"You must be Kali," Stiles said because Derek was doing his growling werewolf routine, half-crouched in front of Stiles and had apparently lost the ability to speak like a person.

She inclined her head, loose dark hair falling around her face until she tossed her head back arrogantly and yeah, she was definitely bad news.

"You know," Stiles said, mentally berating himself for not taking the time in the stairwell to use the mountain ash mixture like he’d intended to before Derek had gotten all up in his business, the meddler, "I was heading up to wherever the party is, if you want to just let us pass, or hey, you could even lead the way." He wasn't lying, either, he wanted to go wherever Scott was being held, which he assumed was in the center of the action.

Kali, though, she didn't look quite sold on the notion. "Oh, I don't know," she said, walking with a fluid kind of grace into the hallway and wrenching another wet growl from Derek and if he kept that up they were going to be overheard and ambushed by even more alpha assholes, which was not part of the plan. Not that Derek knew the plan because he’d _left Stiles handcuffed to his parent’s bed instead of including him in the brainstorming process_.

He wasn’t going to let that go. Probably ever.

But he was fully capable of thinking of alternatives on the fly, so Stiles stepped forward and nudged Dered with his knee and the werewolf's noises cut off immediately. Which was awesomely helpful when it came to not drawing unwanted attention to them. There were still a few more things that needed to happen, though.

"I'm listening," Stiles said because it was clear she was interested in monologuing and if she kept it up while staying on her side of the hallway he might have time to ash his bat. He nudged Derek again and the werewolf glanced back at him with a frown, then hesitantly stood, which was great because it blocked most of Kali’s view of Stiles and played up the whole _protect the squishy human_ vibe Derek had going on. Which, whatever, it worked to Stiles’ advantage.

And she even took the bait, amazingly enough, serving to reinforce Stiles’ observation that alphas really were pretentious douchebags who liked to hear the sound of their own voices.  

“I’ve always wanted a pet,” Kali said, uncomfortably reminded him of Kate, but she’d stopped walking and kept talking so that was good. “Deucalion just wants your heart, I think, but if you come with me I’ll even let you bring your toy,” she nodded at Derek and wow, Stiles wasn’t sure if she understood the entirety of their relationship. He didn’t let his confusion stop him from silently opening the jar, which was hard with his other hand full, so he carefully grabbed Derek’s wrist and bent it so hand curled back and Stiles could rest the jar on the curve of his fingers, which immediately gripped the glass because Derek was useful like that. He was also terrified and so full of angst Stiles could barely keep his own hands from shaking.

But at least he held the jar steady while Stiles dipped his free hand into it and smeared the weirdly warm paste onto the barrel of the bat. “Is that so?” he asked, keeping his eyes on her because he didn’t want to be interrupted while he was putting in motion the first part of his plan. Also, if Derek had to move suddenly and dropped the jar they were pretty much fucked.

“It is,” she replied and Stiles was getting the impression that she wasn’t a woman of many words. “I had a pet, once, my emissary.” Her voice was quiet when she said it, almost like there was a kind of heaviness to the memory.

The chick was seriously weird.

Stiles finished painting his bat and sealed the jar, then took it from Derek and slipped it into the pocket of his borrowed jacket. He didn’t miss the flash of intrigue the other man felt when their fingers brushed.

And they were _really_ wasting time.

“But you _killed_ your emissary, along with everyone else in your pack so excuse me if I don’t come running to join you,” Stiles said mildly, stepping up beside Derek in a clear challenge to the other werewolf.

Kali’s eyes flared brighter and she growled. “Well, if I can’t have you alive, I guess I’ll just have to take what I want from your corpse.”

“Come at me,” Stiles said and that wasn’t the most badass line he could have said, but he was operating on sudden surge of adrenaline with an aluminum baseball bat smeared with ashes and something else and the belief that it would protect him, so his brain was slightly addled. Also, fuck Kali, he wasn’t going to lose the fight, not with Scott’s life on the line.

But Derek beat them to it, charging at her recklessly, his whole torso open and exposed and Stiles knew exactly what was going to happen before it did, but that didn’t keep him from making a shocked noise when Derek’s chest was immediately slashed by the claws on her hands, quickly followed by the ones on her feet because he was just _standing_ there stunned like a fucking _idiot_ and Stiles didn’t even know what happened because he was suddenly at his mate’s side as Derek collapsed onto his knees. Stiles swung the bat down hard on the side of Kali’s head and as the reverberation rattled his arms she collapsed bonelessly onto the floor.

“Fuck,” Stiles said, seizing Derek’s face with his hand that wasn’t smeared with the ash and holding the bat. “Dude, look at me,” he demanded and Derek’s eyes drifted open, not quite tracking Stiles properly as he blinked and grimaced.

He was in pain, Stiles could feel, and was confused and hurt more than just physically and _fuck_ Stiles had to get him out of there so he could heal.

“Up,” he said quietly, awkwardly moving so Derek’s arm was slung over his shoulder. “Come on big guy, change of plans. We’re reversing roles for a bit and _you’re_ going to stay out of the way and get good and healed before you try anymore stupid shit like that.” He managed to walk, well, shuffle, them to one of the patient rooms that had a shadowed corner beside the door that didn’t look completely disgusting.

Stiles lowered Derek gently and touched his face again. “Derek,” he said quietly, waiting until the werewolf finally seemed to focus on him before he continued. “I’m going to save Scott, now. I have backup, and I need you to _not die_. So stay here at least until you’re healed, okay? I’ll come find you when it’s all over with and we’ll both recharge and then we’re going to have a very long, very serious discussion about boundaries and impulsivity. Okay?”

Derek frowned and tried to stand, but then hissed because he had several gaping slash marks across his torso and yeah, that looked like how his shirt had gotten ripped the first time, the idiot.

“Nope,” Stiles said, pressing firmly on his shoulder to keep him down. “You’re staying put because you _need to heal_. I could totally keep you here, you know, with the mountain ash-”

Derek’s eyes widened. He looked and felt horrified.

“-but,” Stiles continued, unable to keep his thumb from stroking the raspy stubble on the other man’s cheek, “I won’t force you to do anything you don’t want to do. That’s not who I am and that’s not what we are to each other, but it would mean a lot to me if you stayed here and were at least able to stand under your own power before you go charging at some more super-powered alphas because I need you in one piece at the end of the night. You’re just going to have to trust that I can take care of myself because I most definitely can.”

There was some definite conflict going on in the other man, his emotions were fluctuating almost too quickly for Stiles to decipher, but a big portion of it was surprise, for some reason.

“What?” Stiles said as he dropped his hand and backed up, setting down the bat. He took out the jar from his pocket and placed it on the floor next to the weapon before he stripped off Derek’s leather jacket. He made a mental note to come back and get it, along with the shirt he pulled off over his head. There would be a lot of explaining to do if Derek’s things were found at the scene of what Stiles assumed was going to be at least one prosecutable crime besides trespassing. The blood would be hard to explain, though.

_Huh_.

Whatever, there were bigger things to worry about. Like concentrating on believing in the mountain ash’s ability to protect him. Because it had to, there was no other alternative. Not with how he’d planned things.

Derek opened and closed his mouth for a moment before he let out a pained huff. “Stiles,” he said quietly, then paused as he watched while Stiles popped open the jar and smeared the warm-ish mixture over the scars on his chest and all across his torso and neck. It probably looked weird, but Derek seemed entranced by the whole thing.

“Yeah?” he said, twisting his arms around to get it on his back, too. And really, it turned out not to be such a bad thing that he’d waited to do the bodypaint thing because it meant Derek was safe, at least temporarily. Stiles didn’t think he could have helped the other man into the room if he’d been covered in the mixture before then.

“I’ll wait until I’m healed before following you out there,” Derek said quietly and Stiles was fairly certain that wasn’t what he’d been planning on telling him, but whatever.

Stiles quickly spread the rest of it on his face, with the leftover goop around the edges of the glass going on his pant legs and shoes. He did wipe his hands off on the discarded shirt, though, no knowing what would happen if he tried to do his magic tricks with them covered. There was no reason to potentially inhibit his abilities if he didn’t have to, plus he had the bat if it came to any hand-to-hand stuff.

Stiles paused at the doorway, weapon slung casually over his shoulder and he figured he probably looked either completely badass or ridiculous painted up and shirtless like that. “I’ll see you later,” he said, all of the unspoken things between them piling up on his tongue, but he couldn’t seem to say them, which was probably how Derek had felt.

_Whatever_.

With one last nod he turned and left, giving Kali’s prone body another strong thwack with the bat before he went to the nearby stairwell, which was the one Isaac and Chris had probably used, so that changed things up a bit, but it probably wasn’t for the worst.

  
  


He didn’t find them or anyone else in there, but the windows further up had been broken at some point and the steps were littered with dry leaves which was fucking bullshit because they were hard to see in the dark, even with the nightvision goggles on. Stiles had to pick his way along at a painfully slow pace that had him gritting his teeth and getting progressively more pissed off by the time he came to the open doorway to the fourth floor and that was a bit of an obvious invitation he didn’t need to be told.

Stiles wasn’t an idiot. He absolutely expected an ambush, but what he didn’t expect were the two baby-faced shirtless dudes who stood a dozen or so feet down the hallway, clearly waiting for him because _werewolves_.

“Do none of you own shoes?” Stiles couldn’t help but comment, nodding to their bare feet, though at least they had pants on. He couldn’t actually believe that was a thing he was grateful for.

_Fucking werewolves_.

The twins, though, whatever their names were, they didn’t answer. Instead they moved closer and then one of them bend down in what was kind an awkward position and the other punched him on the back like an asshole, but instead of pulling his arm back or anything normal, their skin started to merge and _woah_.

“So you guys are into incestuous fisting? Man those are a couple of kinks I wouldn’t have thought to put together, but here you are,” he said, babbled, really.

Because seriously?

_What the fuck?_

They didn’t stop melding at the fist or arm, though. After a series of increasingly painful-looking jerky movements and audible bone cracking the two of them had morphed into a kind of Power Ranger creature of evil.

“Jesus Christ,” Stiles muttered, hands tightening on the bat.

The beast in front of him was decidedly not human. Sure, it was bipedal and had arms and skin and a parody of a face, but the entire creature sported a thick jagged line down the center and in the back of Stiles’ mind he could hear Deaton describing the grotesque nature of the twin's Siamese style of wolfing out, which while fascinating to listen to, was an entirely different, pants-shitting experience to be face to face with.

According to the vet they weren't able to become actual wolves, though, and neither could the others in the alpha pack, apparently. Something about the corrupting power of killing their own pack, of betraying their kin. Whatever, the guys, guy, facing him was gigantic and totally fugly.

"You are not very attractive like that," Stiles heard himself comment because apparently he was an idiot with a death wish.

The beast roared in answer and like something had switched inside of him Stiles could feel his own fury rise in response, his lip curling back and he issued a challenging scream of his own, dropping the bat as his hands crackled with electrical energy and as the creature lunged toward him he held his palms out and _believed_.

Despite the deafening concussive impact of the discharge-

Holy _shit_ he’d just shot lightning from his fucking _hands_.

-Stiles managed to keep his footing and when the haze of smoke cleared there were two guys sprawled on the tile floor, shirtless, though apparently they'd kept their pants because of magic? Or something? Whatever, it didn't matter.

Stiles calmly dusted off his hands and grabbed his weapon, all the while mentally congratulating himself on being a total badass then brained both of them in the heads with his mountain ash-covered bat and sprinted down the hall, knowing the exchange had undoubtedly been overheard because magical electric shocks were loud, apparently.

And he still had to find Scott and kill Deucalion.

Because that was his life.

Stiles grinned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pretty sure we can all tell that the next chapter is going to be a shitshow of violence. Stiles seems to be getting into it, at least...
> 
> It might also be delayed a day because that's what happens when there's a lot going on in a chapter. And my niece is turning one so I should probably make her present like a good auntie :\


	33. Chapter 33

It wasn’t hard to figure out where the main event was taking place, not with the pretty obvious dark smears of what was probably blood along the floor in front of the open double doors, but walking into the stage area of the old school surgical auditorium still made Stiles’ hair stand on end. Scott was front and center, sprawled out on the stone - marble? - operating table, unconscious but visibly breathing. A muscular, but otherwise unassuming-looking guy wearing some kind of dark glasses whom he assumed was Deucalion was standing off to one side of the table, idly tapping on the end of a white and dark-striped stick on the stone and _holy shit_ the guy was _blind_?

_What the fuck?_

Stiles hadn’t seen that coming, which was a terrible pun he immediately felt bad about, but _whatever_ , that fact may or may not impact the next part of his plan and Deaton hadn’t fucking told them about it. It was too early to tell if anything was going to be affected by it and _holy shit_ the Hales had gotten their asses handed to them.

Stiles blinked at where they were sprawled disjointedly throughout the space, Laura and Erica gracelessly draped on opposite sides of the room on the ladder-like stairs and seats, Rollin was curled up on the ground near probably-Deucalion’s feet. All of them were sporting visible injuries like the scratches marring Derek’s chest, but otherwise they didn’t seem to be too vitally damaged, which could just have been because Stiles was a little ways off from them because he wasn’t even sure they were _breathing_ and _shit_ , things hadn’t going well for them _at all_.

Probably-Deucalion was wearing shoes at least, which was a stupid thought but Stiles’ mind was kind of getting into hysterical territory because while he’d expected there to be some kind of a rescue mission going on, he hadn’t anticipated that level of carnage. Because really, the Hales were supposed to have put up at least some kind of a fight, but they had clearly ben schooled pretty hard.

He couldn’t see the others, though he knew there was still another alpha, probably-Ennis, along with their emissary and maybe even Gerard, but none of the crew he’d brought were around and _that_ was alarming. And _fuck_ he really hoped the Hales were just unconscious and not actually dead and suddenly there was a roar from behind him and he turned just in time to see Talia in what he assumed was her partially-shifted form, sharp fangs and glowing eyes, charge past the doorway to meet an unseen challenger down the hall who let loose a bellow so loud it rattled the skylights overhead.

“The fuck?” Stiles asked and the blind guy smirked.

“It is fortunate that you have finally arrived,” he said in his maybe South African accent. So yeah, the dude was Deucalion, which was the best news he’d gotten since he’d fried and brained the twins. “It is always a pleasure to meet a spark. You give off such a potent kind of energy, though you’ve done something to mask yours,” he trailed off, like he was expecting Stiles to keep on with the conversation, but fuck that.

“Step away from Scott and I’ll make your death quick,” he said, letting his anger grow as he watched his best friend breathe, a dark patch visible on the side of his pale shirt, probably from where he’d been bitten. Stiles took a step closer to his friend but then the blind man’s stick was suddenly poised at Scott’s throat, a wicked-looking point glinting on the very tip and yeah, Stiles was backing up.

“Shit, don’t, okay,” he said as he moved almost all the way to the door, his rage turning into a sick kind of dread because he realized he was at a pretty severe disadvantage there. It would have been a great time for Allison’s heroics, but despite the pretty good vantage point she could have had with the auditorium seating, Stiles hadn’t seen her when he’d done his quick look-around and he had to save Scott, somehow. “What do you want?” he heard himself ask, voice giving away too much of how the scene rattled him to his core. If Scott died it would be _his fault_ and Stiles knew he couldn’t live with that.

It was. He just couldn’t.

Deucalion lifted his face and sniffed the air, then gave a rueful shake of his head, the point of the blade never wavering from Scott’s exposed skin. “Stiles, I believe you know what I want, but it seems you’ve utilized an interesting mixture of mountain ash and essence of mistletoe to keep me from claiming it, from claiming you. That’s not very polite,” he commented and pressed hard enough to send a dark trickle of blood down the side of Scott’s neck, and even then this friend didn’t stir.

“Shit,” Stiles said, stepping forward, then back because he wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do. “Is this about tearing out my heart? Is that what you want?” Because he was struggling to find a reason why that was a bad thing with his best friend _being killed_ in front of him.

But Deucalion just laughed. He even threw back his head when he did it and the sound reverberated oddly in the enclosed space. Stiles thought he saw movement through the grimy windows of the skylight, but it _didn’t fucking matter_ because his best friend was being used as bait and shit was _not_ going according to plan. He was supposed to have killed Deucalion by then, with Allison or Chris' help. Isaac and Boyd were supposed to have been backup but none of them were fucking _there_ and Scott was _bleeding_.

"Just tell me what you want," Stiles said, the heat gone from his voice, replaced by a wavering kind of vulnerability he couldn't control. And he wasn't even sure he _could_ bring back the rage to use his magic, which would totally fuck up the rest of his plan if that were the case.

And _no one was where they fucking should have been_ , covering Stiles while he took out Deucalion. Down the hall someone gave another roar and then it was quiet again, but other than that it was too eerily still.

"Giving in so easily?" Deucalion mused, the bastard. "I must say I'm surprised, though I did hear you take out the twins just now, so I suppose you’re probably weakening as we speak. Your hands trembling-

_They were._

-your knees locked to keep you standing-

_Also true._

-a yawn quivering around your lips-

_Fucking asshole._

-but if you join me, us,” Deucalion continued, “then you won’t have to worry about any of that. In an alpha pack you would be surrounded by power so great you would never again feel fatigued from using your magic. If you insist we’ll even let you keep your anchor. Derek, is it?”

Stiles wanted to just clench his jaw against giving the fucker anymore information, but then another drip of blood ran down Scott’s neck and he stuttered an affirmative. “Yes, yes, okay. Derek’s my anchor.”

“You know,” Deucalion continued conversationally, like it was a completely normal situation and he wasn’t threatening to kill Stiles’ best friend in cold blood, “I heard of your mother, everyone must have back when it was discovered she was a spark without a pack. That is quite unusual, you understand.”

He couldn’t help the startled noise that escaped him and Stiles tightened his grip on the bat, not that it would do him much good, not with Deucalion halfway across the room and very much at an advantage.

“Yes, but when Rebecca, alpha of the _illustrious_ Hale pack, failed to woo her it was clear Anya was to be left as a free agent. Besides, what good is earth magic when it’s just manipulating so much _dirt_?” Deucalion made a dismissive gesture with his free hand and Stiles couldn’t help but flinch at it.

He felt suddenly trapped again, like he was back in Cassandra’s chair, strapped down and fucking _useless_. Only then he’d known how to get the ropes loose, but with Deucalion it was like there wasn’t any clear path to safety. He couldn’t leave Scott there, not at the alpha’s mercy, which Stiles was pretty sure was non-existent. There weren’t many other alternatives, either, except apparently joining the alpha douche and living a life of what he assumed was tantamount to slavery. Maybe with Derek at least, though Stiles was doubtful of how long that piece of generosity would last.

“I don’t know,” he managed to grind out, not wanting his silence to seem like provocation. He had to pause to swallow though. “I found the manipulation of earth to be pretty useful in a fight.” The bravado in his voice was patently false, they both knew. He sounded strained, at the edge of his rope and that wasn’t far from the truth. It certainly felt like there was a noose tightening around his neck.

Deucalion, though, he just tutted softly. “Oh, yes, we heard of your little _trick_ , but tell me, what were you thinking when you encased your packmate in dirt? Was it to _suffocate_ him? Because, young spark, that is _not_ how you should treat your brothers,” he chastised with a little shake of his head. The fucking _hypocrite_. But Stiles knew better than to mention it because the alpha was proving himself to be way too dangerous to provoke.

But then something occurred to Stiles that made his brow furrow and he found himself taking a step forward. “How do you know about me casting?” he asked because as far as he knew no one had mentioned it on the phone, not unless someone had called Deucalion back to chat? Because that made sense?

“That would be because I told him,” a voice said behind Stiles and he whirled, bat ready as Peter fucking Hale stepped into the room. He looked like he’d just gotten dressed, all clean-cut and, well, _clean_. There weren’t any slash marks like he’d seen on Derek or the others strewn across the room. And yeah, that kind of made sense, really.

“You fucking traitor,” Stiles said with more disbelief than heat.

Peter made a face and waved aside the accusation though, like it was just a trivial observation and not his utter betrayal of his entire family, his pack. “That hardly matters-”

Which was bullshit because it _absolutely_ mattered.

“-the important thing is that I have yet to receive what you promised, Deucalion,” he said and Stiles had a sinking feeling as the beta walked casually up to the marble slab, patting Scott’s leg absently before he came to a stop at the alpha’s side. “The twins are gone and Talia just tore Ennis’ throat out, then took off downstairs before I could take care of her.”

And he said it all so fucking casually, like he wasn’t discussing his apparent intent to _murder his sister_ , his _alpha_ , and _fuck_ things were even more messed up than Stiles had anticipated, which was really saying something and the entire situation was _actually insane_.

Deucalion didn’t seem all that put-out by Peter’s revelation, though, which said a lot about him as a person. A horrible megalomaniac of a person and Stiles took a brief moment to lament the fact that psychopaths and creepers seemed inexplicably drawn to him and were apparently intent on ruining his life and the lives of the people he cared about.

It really fucking sucked.

“The spark and I were just discussing his particular talents. He takes after his mother, does he not?” Deucalion asked Peter and he finally lowered the blade from Scott’s neck and if Stiles didn’t know better he thought that the wound on his friend’s neck had already closed, but he was still wearing the night vision goggles, so he could have just been misinterpreting whatever it was he saw.

Peter made a dismissive noise. “Some earth and lightning, nothing to get excited about. It isn’t as if he has any talent at all with fire or water, not from what I could get out of Deaton.”

And had a horrifying implication behind it.

“Don’t be so quick to dismiss the potential for weaponizing electricity,” Deucalion chastised calmly and Peter made a noise of acknowledgement. He was walking slowly behind the alpha, glancing around the room at his niece and Erica, then down at where Rollin was laid out. “Though I would warn the spark that the table his friend is on has many metal components, so should he attempt to utilize his powers against us we would not be the only casualties.”

Like Stiles hadn’t fucking figured that out, already. He could see the thick criss-cross supports that served as the table legs, plus the entire ceiling was made of glass. If he tried to call lightning it would all come shattering down on them like a deadly rain. He wouldn’t mind it so much if Scott and Rollin hadn’t been directly in the metaphorical line of fire, but they were and Stiles was at a loss for what to do.

“It’s a shame they locked you away today,” Peter, of all people, said, casually toeing his alpha’s mate with his boot.

“Is that so?” Stiles answered, and yeah, there was the anger, and a yawn that threatened to crack his jaw if he let it out. As it was his eyes watered from it and that wasn’t fucking good, especially not with the goggles on.

Peter half-turned to face him, amused because of course he was, the fucker. “I told Talia she should let you fight, so you could _prove your worth_ as part of her pack, but she was too afraid of you being captured, of her failing your mother. She made a promise to Anya to protect you, did you know that?”

How could he have? It wasn’t like the Hales were all that good at sharing information and he pushed back the thought until he had time to analyze it later.

If there was a later.

But Peter didn’t seem at all put-off by his silence. He moved back toward Deucalion and there was something a bit strangely graceful about the way he was walking, actually, but before Stiles could figure out what it was his claws had come out, eyes flashing as he moved to slash the guy’s throat, but the alpha, the _blind_ alpha, moved with a preternatural kind of grace and dodged the blow, slipping off to the side with a fucking _laugh_.

“Do you think I’d just let you take from me so easily, beta?” Deucalion asked, amused, though his own claws were out and his fangs were visible as Peter crouched to lunge at him and Stiles could immediately see that wasn’t going to work out well for him because despite the two werewolves appearing to be fairly equal in size, Deucalion was clearly far more powerful, if the way he casually tossed Peter halfway up the auditorium was any indication, but apparently the beta wasn’t so easy to beat because he used the steep seating as a kind of springboard and Stiles just had time to drag Scott off the marble slab before Deucalion and Peter slammed down onto it, cracking the fucking thing like it was made of particleboard.

It would have been a perfect time to get the fuck out of there, but then something seized the back of his neck like a vise and he tightened his own grip under his friend’s arms even though he was being fucking lifted up by his neck from where he’d been sprawled and it fucking _hurt_.

Stiles was vaguely aware that the fighting had stopped at some point, Peter was on the floor off to one side while Deucalion was calmly thumbing blood from his lip and licking it, both of them watching whoever it was that was dangerously close to crushing Stiles’ vertebra, Peter with horror and Deucalion with his head tilted which made sense because he was fucking blind and the pain Stiles was experiencing was short-circuiting everything else until his hands spasmed and he felt Scott slip through his arms to slump forward onto the floor.

“This is the one you seek,” the ancient-sounding voice asked and he recognized it as belonging to the old woman from the grocery store, but it still didn’t fucking explain how she had the strength to lift him until he was in an awkward position in between kneeling and crouching that made his thighs burn but somehow made sense because the lady had been pretty short and he managed to turn his head enough to see she was even more mummified than he remembered, her skin paper-thin kind of glowing, like the white swirls of paint she’d put on it for the occasion were pulsing with magic and _fuck_ , Stiles realized that apparently his own body paint slash werewolf armor had been compromised by the hag. That’s what they’d called her, a hag emissary and yeah, Stiles probably wasn’t going to make it out of there alive.

Derek was going to be pissed. Which was a weird last thought to have, but probably not the worst he could come up with and it would have been a pretty good time for his magic to kick in, but nothing happened when he tried to believe he was going to be okay and that was how he knew he really was fucked.

Until a wet growl sounded from the doorway, vicious and amplified because it was coming from _two_ wolves, apparently. Actual fucking wolves and Stiles would have sagged in relief if it wouldn’t have probably ruptured one of his discs because one of them was Derek, he could tell even in the weirdly colored non-darkness of the goggles and the other was bigger, so probably his mother because it was dark instead of Boyd’s apparent lighter coat and things might not end up completely terribly.

_Maybe_.

“Talia,” Deucalion said, raising his arms like he was pleased as punch for her to be there. “How lovely of you to join us. Now be a dear and keep that pup of yours in line, I’ve just offered the spark a deal, his life and that of his anchor’s in exchange for his obedience. We wouldn’t want to make things even messier, would we? I can still hear your mate’s heartbeat, after all, and it would be quite a shame for you to lose him, wouldn’t you say?”

Talia’s reply was a deep growl that rattled the windows overhead and Deucalion shook his head with a tsk.

Stiles’ breath was coming in short gasps as the pain of the hag’s grip never wavered, slowly cutting off the blood supply to his brain and his vision danced, Peter stumbled to his feet and went to Rollin’s side, but it looked like he was actually trying to be helpful that time instead of douchey, but then again it was _Peter_ , so Stiles wasn’t counting on it.

“Are you certain that’s your decision, Talia?” Deucalion asked, his voice strangely deepening and wasn’t sure if it was just the lack of oxygen to his brain or the tunneling of his vision but it looked like the guy was _growing_ , his features distorted and before Stiles could figure out what was really going on a kind of static began to fill his ears in a constant swimming buzz that cut off the roars and then it was like he was a string with his puppet cut or vice versa because the angle of everything was wrong and dark and painful and _exhausting_.

It took him a lot longer than it should have to realize he was slumped on the ground half-atop Scott’s slowly breathing, warm body, the goggles askew on his face making the scene unfolding surreal. It was half dark and half video-game-quality as Talia the wolf, and Deucalion the mutated alpha whatever battled each other, sending the cracked halves of the marble table crashing to the ground in a sudden resurgence of noise that made Stiles jolt and then they roared so loud it almost knocked the wind out of him. It did knock the glass out of a few of the windows, sending it sleeting from the sky to shatter on the seats and stairs and ground like glittering rain. That and the suddenly falling body that slammed to the floor a foot away from Stiles made him finally realize he was probably in danger of being crushed or impaled or _something_ terrible and he gawked for a half-second before he was being hauled back by the waist of his pants. His arms immediately wrapped around Scott’s chest so his friend was dragged to relative safety, too.

Stiles turned his head, confused and disoriented, but of course it was Derek who had saved him. Well, maybe not saved per se, not until another body dropped right where they’d been sprawled, it was facing Stiles and the guy’s throat had definitely been torn out.

_So yeah, definitely saved_ , Stiles thought, delirious and confused and then he saw the hag’s body, crumbled and wasted like she’d dried up from the inside. Which, when he adjusted the goggles so they rested over both eyes, he could see because she’d apparently been sliced almost in half by fangs or claws and there wasn’t much of her innards oozing out like he would have expected and he was horribly confused by what was going on, except that he and Scott were apparently safe for the moment, and so was Rollin because Peter had him draped over one shoulder, stealing out the door to get him clear of the carnage.

“Derek,” Stiles said, his voice raspy and he wanted to fling himself against the werewolf, but he’d already joined the fray with his mother, flanking Deucalion with a savage growl.

“What the fuck?” Stiles asked his unconscious friend and it was pretty clear that the mountain ash trick had expired because he was suddenly cold and he could apparently touch and be touched by werewolves. He stumbled to his feet, rearing back as Talia was flung in front of him, and then she was darting back to snap her fangs at the delicate tendon on the back of Deucalion’s ankle.

_His Achilles’ tendon_ , Stiles mind rambled as he heaved his friend over his shoulder and stumbled for the double doors where he’d seen Peter disappear to because the hallway was at least safer for Scott than the room full of falling glass and growling werewolves, but Peter wasn’t anywhere to be seen and Stiles dropped his friend as carefully as he was able so he was sitting against the wall and turned to go back in, for Laura and Erica, when something seized his arm and he was fucking tired of being manhandled so he used one of the moved his dad had taught him, the flat of his palm shooting out to compromise the attacker’s wrist, which served to break the hold, but not before claws raked across his bicep and Stiles hissed even as he realized it was _fucking Peter_ again.

“Fuck off,” he said, voice slurred from the wash of adrenaline and exhaustion battling for control inside of him and Peter actually backed up a step, looking shifty and actually pretty nervous.

“The twins are gone, they took Kali and Ennis’ bodies,” he said like it even fucking _mattered_.

Stiles gaped at him, palm pressing against his cuts and marveling at how the pain served to bring him back to himself, to reboot his scattered mind. “Go track them,” he said, not really caring if that’s what Peter did as long as he stayed the fuck out of the way. “Track them and call one of us with their location. If you try to engage them in a fight they’ll rip your throat out and I’m having a hard time seeing that as a bad thing. Understand?”

Peter understood, apparently because he nodded and darted down the hallway on silent bare feet and Stiles gaped for a second before there was another tremendous crash from inside the room and a pained howl that made the hairs on his arms stand up because he knew it had come from Derek and he _couldn’t_ lose his anchor-

_Mate_.

-not when the pack was divided and _hurt_ and some of them were possibly _dying_.

He turned back and went into the room, fearing the worst, but Talia and Derek were still standing, tongues lulling as they circled Deucalion who had half of an arm torn nearly to tatters, but Stiles could see the flesh already beginning to mend. Despite the burning in his tired muscles, Stiles moved to the side and climbed over the steep seats to where Erica was sprawled, just starting to stir and he heaved her up onto his shoulder and made a mental note to see a chiropractor at some point because all the heavy lifting he was doing was probably not doing his back any favors.

Stiles started to go down the steps when he noticed a doorway a little ways up at the top of the room and he ascended instead. It opened easily, into the same stairwell they’d been in before and he set her gently just inside the door, against the wall so she wouldn’t accidentally fall if she rolled over or something. Which was not a dog joke, it was simply an observation he’d made about people regaining consciousness. When he turned back to the room the fight had turned nasty. Deucalion had a piece of the broken marble in his clawed hands and was brandishing it like a bludgeoning tool, but Derek and his mother were too swift to be caught by it and the beast was roaring almost continuously, swinging wildly, his stance off-balance because of his wounded leg and then a paler wolf joined them and Stiles breathed a laugh because it was _Laura_ and she was _okay_.

He began to make his way down the stairs when he happened to glance up and caught a glimpse of something shining in the waning light of the moon and realized it was the tip of an arrow, but instead of it being pointed down through the broken skylight at Deucalion it was aimed at something Stiles couldn’t see, something probably standing directly over him and it was the pale of Allison’s face he could make out, half-distorted by the goggles, mouth set in a firm line of concentration, arms steady as she pulled back on the bow.

Which was not a good sign at _all_ because Gerard was still unaccounted for and Stiles’ mind surged as he came to the abrupt realization that the bodies that had fallen from the sky, the roof, belonged to his attackers from Chicago; Wily and Duke. Their throats slit and yeah, that wasn’t a good sign.

But that didn’t make sense, except that they’d been hired by the Argents and Gerard was an Argent and he was _probably on the fucking roof_ with Allison and Stiles turned, racing up the stairs and then out the door, nearly braining Erica with the door before he remembered to catch it, but it still slammed shut behind him as he scaled the ladder next to it, heaving open the hatch that read ROOF ACCESS, not even thinking of being subtle or of the fact that Gerard was _right there_ because of course he was and Stiles had barely gotten his hands over the lip before he was being hauled up, clawed hand digging into the already scratched flesh of his bicep and then he realized how fucking stupid he was.

“This was a bad idea,” he told the gathering at large, Allison and Chris standing across from him with weapons drawn, Boyd on one side of the skylight as Isaac scrambled to his feet in the gravel littering the roof to take up his position by his packmate’s side, claws and fangs and half-shifted features on display. They all seemed to agree with his assessment of the situation, if their incredulous looks were anything to go by. And yeah, it looked like Stiles had just taken Isaac’s place as a human shield. Well obviously Isaac had been a _werewolf_ shield but-

“Indeed,” the deep voice drawled behind him and Stiles was hard-pressed to admit which asshole he found creepier, Gerard or Deucalion, though since he’d never been so close to the latter he was going to go with the former. Bad-touching was definitely a turn-off.

But so was _dying_ , so Stiles, by that point visibly shaking from exhaustion, took a deep breath and tried to focus. “You know, this whole thing is kind of wasteful,” he said, leaning forward enough so that Gerard had to take a step forward, too. Both of his hands were holding onto Stiles’ biceps, grip bruising, claws just shy of breaking skin, well, anymore than it was already broken.

Stiles felt kind of broken. Just. Altogether.

Behind him, the werewolf growled and he was one hundred percent okay with not seeing what Gerard looked like with his forehead bulging and his eyes flashing because he was pretty sure he was all stocked up on nightmare material already. Below them Deucalion gave another epic roar and the remaining glass cracked and fell.

“I’ll have his power,” Gerard rasped, and Stiles had no fucking clue what he was going on about until they lurched another step forward and oh, yeah, Deucalion was probably the pronoun in that sentence. Which still didn’t make much sense.

“I’ll bring you to him and after he takes what he wants from you I’ll take his life like I took his sight and then I’ll be the most powerful alpha ever known.”

And woah, that was a lot to take in.

“ _You_ blinded him?” Stiles couldn’t help but ask, giving Chris a look, but he seemed just as stunned as Allison and the others and yeah, Gerard was fucking nuts. Also way evil.

And sniffing Stiles’ neck because _fucking werewolves_.

“Too bad you’re already ruined or I might have spared you, let you join me in destroying all the beasts that dared challenge me,” he said and he definitely won for creepiest performance. Hands down. Just. All the awards.

“Wait, what?” he asked, then there was a mouth, fanged and wet, tongue slavering over Stiles’ skin and he made a disgusted face, unable to keep himself from stumbling another step to get away from the super gross drooling that was going on and _fuck_ his fucking _life_ that was revolting. The only consolation was that Stiles managed to move them closer to the rusted edge of the metal frame of the skylight when he tried to get away.

Gerard growled against his skin and nudged the tender mark there with the jut of his chin. “You’re ruined, tained,” he said by way of explanation and oh, yeah, Stiles was going to have to thank Derek pretty profusely for that little gem because he couldn’t think about mating with creeper Gerard without wanting to shudder and vomit and die.

As for his master plan to get out of that immensely awkward position, he wasn’t really sure what he was doing. Not that the revelation came as a huge surprise, but then again he knew he probably had one last real pulse of power left in him before he passed out for a long while and he was actually pretty eager to use it. Especially because Gerard was being way creepier than was strictly necessary given Stiles’ clear inability to wriggle out of his clawed grasp.

Also, his plan was probably a bit suicidal, but it was the only one he had.

Isaac caught on first, catching Boyd by the arm and dragging him back a step so they weren’t touching the metal frame. Chris noticed what was going on next and nudged Allison as well and then it was just Stiles and the barefoot, of course he was barefoot, asshole front and center, at the very edge. He had a clear view down into the amphitheater and despite being outnumbered Deucalion _still_ wasn’t dead, and even seemed to be holding his own in the ferocious-looking fight.

So hopefully Stiles could make it a two birds, one stone situation. Or a two douchey alpha werewolves, one bolt of magical lightning thing. Whichever.

“We’ve got a 604, Derek,” Stiles called, which was as close as he could get to what was about to happen, then closed his eyes and blocked out the pain of the piercing grip on his arms as he let the-

_There wasn’t any rage._

He was panting, trembling, but all he could think about was how he didn’t want Derek to get hurt, but knowing that he probably would if Stiles didn’t finish off the bad guys quickly and that _wasn’t fucking fair_ because the lighting was his _one thing_ , the thing Stiles could do that could save them all and as angry tears leaked from his squeezed-closed eyes, catching at the rim of the goggles he heard his mother’s voice again, as clearly as Gerard’s raspy breath in his ear.

_Know that your anchor will ground you in reality and protect your soul from harm_ , she whispered, they were the words from her letter that had made his heart clench and that was it.

Stiles just hoped the same protection extended to his body.

“Code 6,” he yelled, leaping blindly onto the delicate framework, bringing Gerard with him as the metal caught him across the chest and he just had time to think of Derek’s brilliant smile before he _believed_ and the world exploded around him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, so this one took some extra time...
> 
> 604 - Throwing missiles  
> Code 6 - Stay out of the area


	34. Chapter 34

Stiles expected to pass out when he called the lightning that time, but he didn’t.

Because _life was pain_ , as the saying went.

So instead he felt the metal grow hot under his hands, legs already dangling down between the delicate support beams where he’d leapt and _hadn’t fucking looked_ because he was an idiot and the blazing white of the lightning just kept cracking around him, pulsing in time with his heart and so bright he could see it behind his closed eyelids, baking the air and as his hands began to blister, the tender flesh on his inner arms scalding until he couldn’t hang on any longer.

Stiles let go, keeping his eyes squeezed shut because he wasn’t _that_ much of an idiot, even though the was about to break his back falling from a skylight and as the feeling of weightlessness took over him, _that_ was when he finally passed out.

  
  


The field was kind of a relief, he guessed. At the very least it was quieter than the constant electric buzz of lightning, and it didn’t feel quite so unbearably hot. No, the field was the same as it had been the last time he was there. A light breeze blowing across his bare skin, the grass soft underneath him and everything felt okay.

But Stiles wasn't a _complete_ dumbass, at least not all of the time. He knew his body was probably on its way to the hospital across the street from where the showdown had taken place. Well, he hoped that was the case because second degree burns didn't tend to heal themselves except in the case of werewolves, as Laura had so helpfully demonstrated. That and it was likely he had a spinal injury, unless he'd somehow managed to land on his feet, in which case his legs were probably fucked instead.

Jesus he hoped the Hales had gotten out of the way in time.

But he didn’t know what was happening, couldn’t know, not until he either woke up or Derek was able to join him, but there was probably a pretty significant mess to clean up after, so second alternative wasn’t something Stiles expected to have happen too quickly.

Which meant Stiles had plenty of time to think over his life choices.

And that kind of sucked.

_Stiles_ kind of sucked.

“I’m not a very good person,” he admitted to the pale, cloudless sky. There wasn’t an answer, so he kept going. “I’m pretty selfish, actually. I’m mean, I don’t think about other people’s feelings when I decide to do things, I can be impulsive and cruel and I’m kind of a fucking hypocrite.”

He _was_ a fucking hypocrite.

He’d gotten pissed off at Derek and the Hales for not telling him their grand plan and then he’d turned around and done pretty much the exact same thing to them out of spite. Looking back, if he would have just _called them_ or something they could have actually coordinated their attack instead of having it be the slapdash affair that had ended with Stiles chilling out alone in the field, dreaming away the time like nothing was fucking wrong, but he knew that was bullshit because otherwise he probably wouldn’t have been there. The field was a place for him to lick his metaphorical and literal wounds. Well, some of the time. He hadn’t actually gone there after he’d cast, at least not when he’d done something big.

So that was actually pretty new.

But it didn’t change the fact that he’d in-part ended up there because he hadn’t been willing to compromise, hadn’t made the effort to reach out to the Hales even though he was still pissed off at their shitty strategy to keep him out of the loop. So he’d resorted to passive aggressiveness and pettiness to even the score. Also, he’d bludgeoned several unconscious people with a magical baseball bat, which, while justifiable, was still a dick move.

“Jesus, I’m an asshole,” he said, blowing out a long breath and trying not to focus on the fact that the action made his chest kind of hurt. Because if he dwelled on that he’d be reminded of how utterly screwed he’d probably be when he woke up and found out how wrecked his body was from the fall and the extended lightning strike he’d made happen. He only hoped he had the use of his brain and face and hopefully at least his right hand. So he could keep on working, not because he needed that hand for uh, personal reasons.

He totally needed that hand for personal reasons.

And it would probably serve him right if he was all jacked up from the neck down.

So yeah, he needed his arm to still be in working order and really he wished that he was miraculously okay, but knew that was a poisonous kind of false hope so he just let it go as he continued to stare up at nothing. At least if there had been some clouds he could have entertained himself finding shapes in them, but there was just endless sky and yeah, Stiles was capable of keeping himself entertained on his own, but he usually had the use of at least his computer or phone or a book or something and not being able to access any of those things just made it harder not to dwell on the fact that he was kind of stuck there.

All alone.

Fucking useless.

“You know you could join me if you want?” Stiles said.

Just.

Putting it out there.

In case Derek was nearby or really could read his mind like he’d considered in the past and suddenly he felt something on his cheek, a whisper of a touch and _woah_ , that was creepy except that he could feel Derek’s emotions; relief-anguish-affection-fear-hope-annoyance-anticipation. All churning, replacing each other as they cycled through so rapidly that if Stiles hadn’t had so much practice parsing them out they would have just all blended together into an amalgamation of _feels_. As it was they were still a bit overwhelming, but it also meant Derek was right there with him, well, with his body and that he was at least okay enough to touch him, and that Stiles’ face was okay enough to be touched. So that was a good sign.

“No rush, though, if you have things to do,” he added after a long minute. The touch disappeared and that pretty much answered that. Which was fine and to be expected because yeah, the shit had pretty much hit the fan with the whole alphas thing.

Which, _woah_. Deucalion had definitely been a super douche, and so had Gerard, but they were hopefully very dead, along with Ennis, apparently, and Kali? Maybe?

Whatever. It wasn’t like him dwelling on it could make the answers come any faster, just like lying there seemed to be the most boring thing he’d done in ages, since that one time at work when Par-Man had droned on for a good forty five minutes about the necessity of, what had he even been talking about? Something to do with variables? Vegetation? Volunteering? Whatever, Stiles had been so bored he’d actually fallen asleep sitting up with his eyes open. He’d woken himself up with an open-mouthed snore, though, which was probably one of the reasons Parson Manning hadn’t liked him very much at all after that.

_Huh_.

Yeah, Stiles had some personality flaws to work on.

He considered singing to pass the time, and that made him think about Derek’s adorable revelation that he was into 60s music, which then made Stiles think about his mom and her vinyl collection which he suddenly remembered was in the _basement_ and not her room because his dad had some old records, too, and he hadn’t wanted to venture into the sewing room in case he wanted to listen to any of them. Not that ever of them ever had, but still.

And that would actually be a nice thing for them to do together, with Derek, even. Some good ol’ bonding time with his dad and magical werewolf buddy. They could sit around the coffee table in the living room talking about their favorite songs and fun band facts and yeah.

Fun times.

_Wow_ , he was bored.

Stiles tried to sit up, if only so he’d have something different to look at, but he couldn’t seem to manage it, almost like he was being held down and _woah_ , that wasn’t cool. Unseen forces were way not okay with him, and neither was bondage of any kind, not anymore, and his chest was aching again as he started to breathe too quickly when suddenly Derek’s touch was back, soothing and warm against his forehead and Stiles settled down immediately.

Because apparently he was just supposed to lay there.

“I am trying to be patient,” he said, not even knowing if anyone could hear, but whatever. He was actually kind of surprised it had taken so long for him to just start flat-out talking to himself and maybe Mr. Harris, the bane of his high school existence, had been right, maybe Stiles _did_ just like hearing the sound of his own voice. “I think I’m failing, though, at the whole patience thing,” he admitted. “This field is really boring and I can’t even see it from this angle.”

Derek was amused, but also the same mix of emotions as before, so that wasn’t really helpful, but at least it gave Stiles something else to concentrate on. Also, it kind of seemed like he could hear Stiles? Or at least understand him somehow, which was maybe useful.

“This is kind of a one-way street, though. I mean, you seem to be able to understand what I’m saying, maybe, or you just find my grunting or whatever amusing.”

More amusement.

“So yeah, whatever. I’ll just keep babbling, then. It’s what I’m good at, though I don’t normally really _say_ anything.”

Which, yeah. That was not one of his better qualities.

“Jesus, this field is kind of fucking depressing without you. Gives me a lot of time to dwell. Dwelling on the welling on the swelling. Oh, shit, I still don’t know how fucked up I am. Is it gruesome? I bet it’s pretty bad, isn’t it?”

Derek’s emotions went carefully blank, like static.

“Oh, fuck you dude, that’s not fair, you know I’m going to get all worst-case-scenario up in here.”

And yeah, that was exactly what Stiles was doing. He knew there was something wrong with his chest, so that could mean anything from broken ribs to internal bleeding, fixable to fatal, and maybe Derek didn’t want to be in the field with him because he didn’t want to be there when Stiles died. He didn’t want to watch him fade away or maybe he was keeping Stiles’ innards inside of him because there had been enough glass around the auditorium for him to have cut himself open like a fucking pinata and fuck, what if it was his skull that had been-

Derek’s emotions rolled over him in a wave of comfort that made his breath stutter before he felt his entire body relax back against the grass and he hadn’t even been aware he’d tensed up. But there he was, mellowed as-could-fucking-be because of his magical werewolf mate-anchor.

“So I’m probably not cracked open like an egg?”

Stiles wasn’t sure how Derek was even able to convey the feeling, but the answer was a resounding _no_.

Which was pretty fucking awesome.

“That’s awesome, okay. Are you going to join me? Soonish?”

_Yes_.

Even better news.

“Okay,” he said quietly. Stiles let himself just settle into where he was laying. The grass felt maybe not quite as soft as it had the previous times he’d been there, but then again he’d been on beds the other times and he wasn’t sure of where he was at the moment. Being transported somewhere? On the glass-strewn floor of the amphitheater? On an uncomfortably hard gurney at the hospital? And fuck, that might have been why Derek couldn’t join him, because he was dealing with Stiles’ dad or paperwork or was watching someone work on Stiles or something.

“Am I at the hospital?” he asked tentatively.

_No_.

Which. Huh. That actually wasn’t the answer he’d been expecting at all.

“Home?”

“No,” Derek’s voice said quietly, breath ghosting across his ear and Stiles shuddered, eyes closing involuntarily before he jolted and turned his head, almost clipping Derek, but the werewolf startled back with a watchful look.

“You’re here,” Stiles said, reaching out to touch and Derek’s hand met his halfway, suspended over the scars on his chest and beneath them his heart ached.

“I’m here,” Derek agreed, his smile private but still worried.

And that wasn’t good.

If Stiles’ hand had been free and not currently captured by Derek’s he would have used his thumb to smooth the tense set of the other man’s forehead, his concerned eyebrows and the puckered worry lines around his eyes. “You’re upset,” Stiles said, his free hand curling in the grass to keep from touching, from grabbing and not letting go.

Derek frowned, his eyes never wavering from Stiles’ as he looked over at him, head propped up on his hand, elbow pressed to the earth. “You risked your life and could have died,” he said, voice rough with the same cocktail of emotions he’d been feeling, but they all seemed more potent than before, more present and vivid.

“I’m here though,” Stiles pointed out, though he still wasn’t clear on where _here_ was, exactly.

Derek growled. He fucking _growled_ and his eyes flashed blue and Stiles was floored because it wasn’t playful and it wasn’t arousal, it was anger and he’d honestly never thought of the whole werewolfiness thing being directed at him like that. Not by Derek, at least.

“What-”

“We left you at home to _protect_ you, Stiles,” he said, words lisped because of the fangs, and even his claws were out, but they were carefully not touching Stiles’ skin because even when he was wolfed out Derek was still careful with him. “I know it wasn’t the best decision, but we did it to keep you from harm.”

“And I charged in and saved the day to protect you,” he challenged, confused and _hurt_ and starting to get angry again, the slow burn of it making his throat hot.

Derek snorted, “So falling twenty feet is your idea of protecting me?”

Stiles flinched at the disdain in Derek’s voice and then he was really pissed.

"You know what, Derek, I'm not your fucking kid, and I’m certainly not your slave. You can't just tell me what to do and expect me to do it because I'm a grown-ass adult and I made a choice today, just like you did. I chose to fight for what I love instead of allowing those fuckers to take it from me. I’m not going to let you guilt me about this, not when I don’t even know what happened. I don’t know where I am or if I’m even in one piece right now, and I really don’t appreciate you coming into my dream to lecture me about this when I’m just trying to recover and stay sane, here."

"I don't, I didn't," Derek attempted, then ran his other hand, neither of them clawed any longer, through his artfully tousled hair and at some point he’d gotten on his knees and was straddling Stiles in a pretty forward, but non-sexual way despite them both being naked. And even in a dream when Stiles was pissed off at him the guy looked perfect.

Because of course he did.

After taking a moment to collect himself, which was hard for Stiles to grant him, but he somehow managed to keep his own mouth shut, Derek finally nodded, like he was agreeing with himself or something. Like he’d come to a decision.

"Stiles," he said. His head was bowed and he was looking up through his eyelashes in a truly unfair demonstration of humility. "What you said to me when you helped me after taking care of Kali-"

Damn _right_ Stiles had taken care of Kali.

"-that you could have used the mountain ash to make sure I stayed there, it," he paused to clear his throat and finally tilted his head enough so they could properly look in each others eyes. "It reminded me of something from your mother's letter and I realized just how horribly I'd messed up."

Stiles forgot to breathe for a moment, too caught up in Derek's words and his anguished expression and emotions pouring through where their hands were still joined.

"Go on," he said, voice shot.

“Aun- Anya wrote that when I finally realized how much you meant to me, that you would challenge me at every turn, but in the end the pain and sorrow and screaming matches would be worth it because we were _made_ for each other. She knew it the moment she saw the look on my face when I was little, how I couldn’t tear my eyes off of her growing stomach because I could hear how _right_ your heartbeat was, even in the womb.”

“Is that it?” Stiles asked because if that was all, if their bond was just some kind of biological imperative to Derek he wasn’t sure he could handle that.

But Derek was shaking his head, chin twitching in a barely-there quiver that served to suck the oxygen from Stiles’ lungs because even without words, without hearing it, he knew. Derek spoke anyway, though, his voice husky with emotion as his hazel eyes shone bright. “I can’t ever lose you, Stiles, and sometimes that drive to keep you safe makes me fuck up in unbelievably stupid ways, but if you’ll allow me one last chance I will do everything I can to make it up to you. And it isn’t about how your heartbeat sounds like the only music I ever want to hear, or how your scent makes my mouth water, or how the way you move makes me want to chase you until there isn’t any strength left in me. Those are just bonuses because you taste like magic and your laugh makes my breath catch and your sense of humor is so silly sometimes that I get stomach cramps from holding back my laughter. Stiles, I want to be with you for the rest of our lives not because you’re my mate, but because I love you.”

There were tears in his eyes that he didn’t even care to hide because yeah, Derek was a jackass, sometimes. He made stupid, rash decisions that ended in pain and suffering, but so did Stiles because they were both a bit broken and idiotic, but that and the rest kind of made them perfect for eachother.

“I hate you, sometimes,” Stiles admitted, but there was so much emotion in his voice he was pretty sure Derek wouldn’t have been able to understand him if he’d been human. “I hate what you do and how you handle tense situations, but I think we’re finally getting to be on the same page. I’m just, give me some time to sort out the rest of it. Please?”

Derek nodded mutely and watched him with a fond look. Through the bond Stiles could feel his relief so palpably it was like a stone had been lifted from his own heart, too.

And of course his mom had known about his future relationship with Derek, how well they’d fit together, jagged edges and smooth. Even before he was born, apparently because she was the most amazing woman he’d ever met, and she knew exactly what she’d been talking about in those letters. Stiles opened his arms and then Derek just kind of curled over onto him, hiding his damp face against Stiles’ neck and they held each other like that.

Remembering and forgetting, all at once.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *squints eyes* gave myself some feels in this one...  
> (but do you see that there is no magical solution? Stiles is still Stiles and shhh, just enjoy it, kittens)


	35. Chapter 35

"I think we should do yoga as we talk," Derek said against the skin of Stiles’ throat. His voice was quiet, though, like he was afraid of being reprimanded for sharing his opinion.

Which, that was weird, that Derek seemed so vulnerable.

"Yoga? Right now?" Stiles asked and held back a wince because it _did_ kind of sound like a reprimand, but he was honestly just confused because that seemed like kind of a random request.

Derek leaned back and did his whole looking up through the eyelashes thing that made him even more unfairly attractive, especially since Stiles was pretty sure that wasn't even they guy's goal. Derek was just genuinely feeling insecure about his suggestion. "You’ve hypothesized that intimacy promoted your healing, and I know that you're no longer interested in _being_ intimate with me, but in Wisconsin you regained energy fairly rapidly after we practiced together and I just figured," he trailed off, having run out of words or maybe courage.

Stiles thought about his offer and found himself slowly nodding. "It makes sense," he allowed, "and we both know physical contact is apparently a necessity. Our bodies are touching right now, aren't they?"

Derek nodded.

"And just how wrecked am I? Are we talking weeks of physical therapy? Months? Years?" Because shit, that was a depressing thought.

But Derek just looked kind of baffled and _that_ was weird.

"Dude, you said it yourself, I fell _twenty feet_. That doesn’t exactly lend itself to a healthy outcome, not for humans at least." He didn't see where the confusion was, unless Derek was unaware of what physical therapy was in the first place because he was a werewolf who'd spend a lot of his life surrounded by other werewolves for the most part, and that actually made a lot of sense.

"Don't worry about it, Stiles," he said and _seriously_?

"Seriously? Are you serious right now? You can't possibly be serious. You're definitely fucking with me, aren't you?"

The amusement coming through their bond said yes, Derek was absolutely fucking with him.

"Oh my god you asshole!" Stiles said, pushing at Derek's bare shoulders, but they were both smiling and yeah, that was pretty awesome, really. "But honestly, how am I? You don't have to sugarcoat it, I'm a big boy."

Derek glanced down at Stiles' crotch with a raised eyebrow and Stiles choked on a laugh because carefree-Derek was such an anomaly he wasn't since how to deal with him. Also, without even having said anything he’d just made a dick joke, and that was never not funny.

But then Derek finally sobered and held out his hands so his palms were facing Stiles, who reflexively pressed their hands together like they were doing a mirrored pose. "I meant it," Derek finally said, raising their hands so Stiles' arms were pointed straight up. "You're okay, you're fine."

"But _how_? The drop-"

"I caught you," Derek said simply, like it was that simple. Like catching a guy who had basically been engulfed in a lightning bolt and had dropped twenty feet down to a glass-strewn floor was something that could happen in real life. But then again that _was_ the kind of shit that had been happening to Stiles since he’d met Derek, so maybe it was part of the whole werewolf thing, the being aware of the supernatural aspect of things and having to deal with them on a regular basis.

"I was basically on fire," Stiles pointed out. He felt it was an important thing to note.

"Well," Derek said, spreading their arms so they could look at each other more easily, "you are pretty hot."

Stiles let out a startled laugh.

"But," Derek continued, more seriously and with some reservations, "in the interest of full disclosure, I may have suffered some injuries, but I was almost healed by the time I joined you here, so please don't-"

"Don't what, worry? Derek, _of course_ I'm going to be worried about you getting hurt, and holy shit you _caught_ me? That's. Wow. How does that even work? You were a wolf-"

"I shifted."

"-and the ground was covered in glass-"

"I didn't care."

"-and I was _literally_ brighter than the sun!"

Derek brought their hands down so Stiles could rest his elbows on the soft grass. "My eyes will heal, as will my feet and eardrums and whatever else is wrong with me. I'm healing right now, actually, quicker than I ever have before."

Which, okay.

"And why's that?" Stiles asked, even though he had a pretty good idea.

"Because you're my anchor and my mate and when I'm with you I can't help but be whole," Derek replied, as simply as that.

Stiles shuddered and Derek pulled back so their hands were on either side of their hips.

"I'm glad you're healing," Stiles said quietly. "But wait, could you hear what I was saying when you were awake? How much of this place, of what we do here, exists in the real world?"

"You don't think this is real?" Derek asked knee-walking backward as he pulled Stiles up until he was sitting.

"Of course I think it’s real, but _how real_?" Stiles asked again. His chest didn't hurt anymore, it didn't even twinge when he deepened his breathing to match pace with Derek.

Who made a contemplative noise that echoed his emotions, well, one of them. The rest were a kind of a jumble of protectiveness and satisfaction, affection, leftover worry, and content. "Our physical bodies are pressed side by side on metal exam tables in Deaton's clinic," Derek finally admitted and Stiles raised his eyebrows until he continued. Reluctantly. "That's all we do though, when we have a shared dream. We lay there and sleep," and Derek actually seemed kind of put-out by that, which, yeah, so was Stiles.

It meant that a lot of their more intimate moments really had just been shared wet dreams. And that was kind of disappointing, actually. Even though Derek was right, that Stiles wasn’t all that eager to jump back in the sack with him-

Not after the handcuff thing.

-but that didn’t mean he wanted to just forget about what they’d done, how they’d made each other feel and it seemed like the dreams really were a kind of _power of the human mind_ kind of deal, which was a bit of a relief, he guessed. At least that way they weren’t doing some creepy sleep-walking, or sleep-sexing. Sleep-yoga-ing?

_Whatever_.

“I couldn’t hear you, though, not exactly,” Derek said, and Stiles tuned back into him. In that position, with both of them sitting, they had a much wider range of movement, stretching forward and back, side to side and Derek took them through a full warm-up with smooth, careful movements. “I knew what you were asking, though. When you were unconscious in my arms. I think it’s like when I’m fully shifted in my wolf form and you can still understand me. And I don’t think you’re not a hypocrite or an asshole.”

“That’s a sweet sentiment, but it’s completely false,” Stiles said with a wry shake of his head. “I’m absolutely both of those things, but thanks, I guess.”

Derek frowned but shrugged, letting it go, and nudged Stiles’ legs so their feet were pressed together, their arms and legs stretched out so they made a kind of diamond shape and Stiles focused on Derek’s face and not his soft cock that was on full display because he refused to get distracted from their conversation. Especially since there wouldn’t be any intimate touching going on because Stiles was still upset about his limits being ignored and their bodies were actually in a public place. The limits thing, though, that was much more important.

But he also couldn’t just  let it go, the whole _state of his unconscious body_ because seriously? He was calling bullshit. “I at least have some burns, though, don’t I?” Stiles asked, pressing the issue. “I remember feeling the metal get hot under my hands and arms and even across my upper chest when I was dangling there.” Kind of like how his dick was dangling in the grass, but _he wasn’t thinking about that_.

“You’re being treated, and by the end of the dream I think you’ll be fully healed like me,” Derek said, leaning forward and Stiles slowly pulled on his arms to help him stretch in the empty space between them.

“So I was hurt,” Stiles pointed out as they switched and he was kind of amazed that he had the flexibility to feel the blades of grass tickle his nose as he leaned forward, Derek’s firm grip on his wrists keeping him from tipping too far and face-planting. And yeah, he’d totally called the whole injury thing.

Derek grumbled, but as they both sat up straight he gave a curt little nod. “Yes, your skin was red and blistered and I took the pain as soon as I realized it,” he said quickly, like _that_ had been the thing Stiles was worried about.

“No,” he said, then took a calming breath with Derek and modified what he’d been about to say because he didn’t want to be destructively rash with the other man. Stiles would use logic and rationality and maybe some emotions because they certainly both seemed to have a bountiful amount of those. “I mean thank you, for doing that for me, the pain sucking thing, but when something like that happens I’d prefer it if you didn’t hide it from me, okay? You should actually probably lead with that, with your injuries and mine because that kind of thing is really important to me. I want to know how we’re doing, especially when I’m not in any kind of position to find out on my own. And hey, you said your eyes were healing?”

Derek’s chagrin turned to curiosity. “Yes, of course they’re healing. Why wouldn’t they?”

Which was exactly what Stiles wanted to know.

“What about Deucalion? He’s blind, right? Or were the dark glasses and stick just for show?” Because the guy was kind of a diva, so Stiles wouldn’t have put that past him, though getting into costume seemed just a bit overly dramatic given the circumstances.

Stiles certainly wouldn’t do anything like that. Unless it was for a drag show, in which case hell yeah, he was totally game. Halloween, too. Or if he was bored. So yeah, Stiles enjoyed dressing up, just, not as part of some diabolical plot.

“No, he’s blind,” Derek said, then seemed to catch on. “He was blinded-”

“By Gerard,” Stiles pointed out, and that didn’t seem to be something Derek had known because he was confused again.

“If Gerard _intentionally_ blinded him, then it makes sense that his eyes didn’t heal,” he finally said slowly, like he was working it out as he spoke.

And _that_ was alarming.

“ _Woah_ , what do you mean intentionally? Like that mark I put on your neck?” Stiles asked, but when he looked at Derek’s skin it was smooth and flawless and unbitten. He couldn’t stop the feeling of malcontent at not seeing it there and he needed to figure out what, _exactly_ he was feeling for the other guy because he was just serving to confuse himself. The physical attraction was still there, certainly, but the woundedness he felt, the aching around his heart was there as well.

_Betrayal_ , he thought. Some bitterness, too.

Derek nodded, but didn’t seem entirely convinced. “It’s kind of like that,” he allowed, “the intent behind it plays a part, but it’s also about the method used. If Gerard had infused something poisonous like wolfsbane into whatever weapon he used against Deucalion, it probably wouldn’t heal, at least not as quickly as normal.”

That was actually a pretty amazing revelation to be added to Stiles’ internal _care of magical creatures_ list in the back of his brain. It went along with how he wasn’t supposed to ask any werewolves besides Derek to shift into their fluffy forms, even if they were more cuddle-able that way, and how they flashed their other eye color when feeling strong moods, and a dozen other random observations he’d made while spending time with the Hales. Like the fact that clothing seemed to be optional, at least from what he’d seen of Derek.

And _wait_.

“What about your tattoo?” Stiles asked because that had been something that had fascinated him since he’d first seen it, and then even more when he realized the whole werewolf healing thing should have taken care of that long ago. “Holy shit, is there wolfsbane in the ink or something?” he asked, incredulous and pained just thinking about it because that was fucking _awful_.

Derek folded his legs and Stiles did the same until they were sitting knee to knee, the tops of their feet touching and their hands on each other’s thighs because. Well, because he didn’t exactly know why. Maybe because it was comfortable and close and exactly where he wanted to be.

“My tattoo doesn’t contain wolfsbane, Stiles,” Derek said quietly, then twisted his shoulders to stretch his spine. “It was done like any other tattoo, with normal ink.”

Stiles narrowed his eyes as he twisted as well, in the opposite direction. “But why didn’t your body heal it? Don’t you have to keep thinking about it to make it stay?” Which could have been why Stiles’ mark had faded from Derek’s skin. He could have forgotten about it, or even willed it away, probably.

That wasn’t a happy thought.

It was actually kind of creepy and possessive, but Stiles figured that as long as he didn’t mention it out loud he couldn’t be held accountable for his own internal monologue.

Probably.

Except that Derek could apparently read his mind when he was unconscious.

_Fuck_.

“After the tattoo is completed and the skin heals, we used a butane torch to scald it until the mark was set. My mother did it for me while my father held me down. She could see the lingering ink absorbed by my skin when she shifted her eyes because she’s an alpha and the tattoo was still fresh.”

“You let your _mom_ put a flaming torch to your skin? To your _back_?” Stiles asked, shouted, maybe.

Which, yeah, he was allowed to be upset about that because that was fucking _insane_.

“Dude, Derek, that’s fucking insane! That’s-”

That was actually _torture_.

And shit, suddenly the whole Hale pack dynamic made a hell of a lot more sense than it ever had before. If Talia thought it was acceptable to perform a scarification ritual on her own son using a butane torch - _for decorative purposes_ \- then it actually followed that she’d think something like handcuffing a valuable magical ally to the floor of her bedroom in order to keep him out of danger was also a smart and acceptable move.

It wasn’t that Talia was cruel or even dumb, it was just that her brand of logic was absolutely not the same as Stiles’. And really, he was beginning to understand where Derek was coming from, too. A place where physicality and violence were just means to an end. Action despite of, or perhaps to encourage, the consequences.

“Derek,” Stiles said quietly, taking his hands again. “I’m starting to understand a lot more about you and your family and I need to know if you were serious about following me wherever I go.”

He returned Stiles’ grip, confidence and, Stiles wasn’t even sure how, but _loyalty_ coming through the bond.

“I would follow you to hell, Stiles,” he said with complete sincerity.

It was an extremely meaningful gesture, only slightly ruined by Stiles’ memory of watching the Disney movie _Hercules_ in the recent past and that made him think of the slimy character Hades which made him think of-

“Holy shit Peter was in on it,” he blurted out, eyes wide as Derek kind of just stared at him, baffled. “No, I’m fucking serious, Derek. Peter had made a deal with Deucalion, something about taking out one of the alphas, maybe? He even mentioned something about Talia and-”

“He wants to become an alpha,” Derek finished for him in a whisper. He was shocked to the core, Stiles could feel. It was a cold sensation that numbed his extremities before Derek pulled away, breaking physical contact and that just made Stiles feel even more chilled, but before he could ask Derek gave him one last, haunted look before he disappeared and Stiles was left alone again.

“Well, fuck,” he said, then sighed as he looked down and picked at the blades of grass in front of him. Though, yeah, he absolutely got why Derek had bailed on him. Letting his family, his pack, know that there was a Judas in the mix was pretty fucking important in the grand scheme of things. Much more important than entertaining some wounded dude, even if Stiles was his anchor. And mate. And whatever else.

Stiles was kind of actually cold, though, which sucked because he wasn’t supposed to be uncomfortable in his field, and hadn’t been since the last time he’d seen his mother, when the lightning storm had descended on them and the wind had whipped across their skin. And huh, that probably had to do with his magic and his mother’s. The element he was strongest in, electricity, and the earth underneath him as well. But whatever, it wasn’t like he actually had any resources or research to rely on to back up that kind of postulating. All he had was Deaton’s enigmatic half-answers and Talia’s vagueness and Stiles was _itching_ to get his hands on the books she had in her office. The ones that could help him figure out what the hell was going on with him and his magic and the fatigue and his anchor situation.

He scowled down at the grass, then off across the expanse of gently rolling hills to the far distant horizon and _huh_. Stiles squinted, but it did kind of look like there were storm clouds in the distance, which was weird because there hadn’t been any indication of that since his mom had left.

_Again_.

Stiles swallowed that thought and heaved himself to his feet, stumbling a bit even though the ground was even. It wasn’t like he had anything better to do so he started walking toward the sparks of light amongst the dark clouds in the distance. The storm poised on the horizon.

Because maybe, if he looked hard enough, screamed loudly enough, his mom might hear him and come back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Storytime!  
> My mom is super proud of the "green egg" grill she and my dad bought (though theirs is a tasteful black). Apparently you can cook beef jerky and any meat and pizzas and cake and whatever the fuck else you want in it and they even built an entire gorgeous porch with fancy tile work and a built in counter holder thing just to house it, so yeah, they're super proud. Anyway, she told me this over a series of a dozen texts, complete with pictures, and then she sent me a picture of a lizard that had been hanging out nearby with the caption "our nearest neighbor" because they live in the middle of nowhere. I asked if she was going to throw it on the grill, too and she replied "Yep soons I can ketch him." My mother, ladies and gentlemen. (She's not really going to eat the damn lizard, she's surgeon, not a chef) So yeah, the south is pretty entertaining when you're not living in it!


	36. Chapter 36

Walking wasn’t too bad, really. The grass was so plush under Stiles’ feet it was almost bouncy, but he wasn’t in the mood to pretend he was on the moon or moving in slow motion or anything like that, so he just kept going at a lazier pace than normal because he was still kind of tired from using his magic and from the emotional conversation he’d had with Derek.

Stiles didn’t get any warmer, but he didn’t feel any cooler, either, so he just concentrated on walking and what Derek had told him.

The grand reveal.

The three words.

_I love you_ , he’d said and Stiles. Stiles hadn’t said it back.

Because he wasn’t sure about his feelings. He had a lot of them, that much was a certainty, but. But they covered the gamut. A technicolor rainbow arching across the spectrum of feelings and emotions and Stiles had them _all_. Derek pissed him off, made him crazy with anger, had him shaking with rage even as he made Stiles’ heart melt with the way he was so bashful about his favorite music genre or his love of peanut butter cookies, how he couldn’t get enough of Stiles’ scent when he was gross and sweaty and the way he sang and the look in his eyes when he’d made the confession and-

Stiles rubbed his hands over his hair, grabbing onto it and pulling until he was able to think again. Until the pain brought things back into focus.

The truth of the matter was that Stiles _probably_ loved Derek, but he just wasn’t fucking sure. It was like there was an emotional roadblock in the way. A hurdle he hadn’t quite overcome and wasn’t ready to attempt to leap. He could label it clearly enough, though.

_Trust_.

Stiles simply didn’t trust Derek.

He’d tried, multiple times, but then the fucking manhandling and handcuff had come out and yeah, he couldn’t just accept that kind of behavior. Not after the shit he’d gone through in the past and the excruciatingly painful and nauseating lessons he’d learned. And the thing that rankled him the most about Derek’s actions was that they’d talked about it. They’d had a long, detailed discussion about consent and their hard limits and soft limits and so many other things, but it was like none of it fucking mattered. Like Stiles’ agency didn’t matter to Derek. The lines of communication had been abruptly cut, and thus his lack of trust.

It was like when Stiles was back together with Samson, who had always been a selfish fucking asshole in bed. Had taken but hadn’t given, had humiliated Stiles even though that wasn’t one of his kinks _at all_. They’d ended things after four months and almost a week of nightly vomiting on Stiles’ end because he’d been so stressed and anxious and nervous about them calling it quits he hadn’t been able to to handle it. That had largely been a relationship built on assumptions and virtually no straightforward discussions of the more important things that mattered to them, and thus their relationship had ended in a burning rush of messy accusations and angst.

Then there was Bethany, who had been as beautiful as she was vain. She’d bed-hopped, which Stiles hadn’t known about until she’d tried to bring her other boyfriend into the mix and Stiles had abandoned that ship as quickly as he could, which hadn’t been all that difficult because Bethany had accused him of trying to control her, which was laughable, and then promptly dumped him. He’d immediately gotten tested for everything he could think of, just in case. Again, a lack of communication was to blame, as well as a very different set of relational morality.

And then Cassandra. Of the three, she’d been the one he’d felt the most comfortable with, but it just went to show how shity his taste in partners was because she’d been the one to cause him the most lasting damage, both physically and psychologically. He’d loved her, though, in a way, like he’d loved the others and all it had ever gotten him was hurt. That, though, apparently that had more to do with magic and alpha werewolves than he’d known, which was so fucking out of left field Stiles gave himself the benefit of the doubt with her. It still didn’t change the fact that she’d used him, though, for his body, and that was laughable. And sad.

Derek was different, though, for obvious reasons. What with his own personal werewolfiness and their anchor and mate things in the mix. Those certainly added a whole new dimension of strange Stiles hadn’t ever knowingly encountered in the past. Though unlike his past lovers, Derek was also calm and observant, thoughtful to an extent and he’d known Stiles’ mother, which shouldn’t have been quite as big a deal as it was to him, but then again Stiles had lost her as a child and there were several years before he was even born when Derek had been with her and-

The wind had started to pick up as he walked, the conditions similar to when he’d last seen her. It was stupid of him to chase after it, the memory or magic or whatever it was that had made it possible before, but Stiles knew himself well enough to know that even if there was even the most remote opportunity for him to see his mother again he would take it, damn the consequences.

Stiles thought about the letter. Letters, really. Derek’s and his. Stiles’ mother had known so much, somehow. Because of magic? Intuition? Had she just made it all up?

It didn’t matter, though, he knew. Because regardless of how she’d come up with the answers, he’d listen to her. One of his first conversations with Derek came to mind, when he’d rambled on postulating about whether or not he’d listen to his mother if she were suddenly alive and yeah, he’d been right, he would absolutely follow her advice and do as she said because he couldn’t imagine _not_ doing it. It was his _mom_ and she had possessed a kind of wisdom that transcended time.

Stiles was getting colder, he vaguely acknowledged, but the sky overhead was no longer clear. There were wisps of clouds that grew darker as he trudged along, the wind taking on a sharper edge as the grass prickled his bare feet. His journey was perhaps a bit self-destructive, but it didn’t matter, not if he was able to see her again.

“Stiles?” Derek’s voice asked, distant and barely audible in the constant rush of cold air.

Not feeling like replying, he didn’t.

Stiles wasn’t sure how to feel about Derek, didn’t know what they were supposed to do, where they were supposed to go from there. It was like they were in a strange kind of limbo, a space between realities that offered so many opportunities even though the walls had begun to close in on them from every side, stifling and claustrophobic.

He had an idea of the future, but wasn’t sure if it was at all wise or if it would even work out because even though he was loathe to think about it he’d made a commitment to Talia, though looking back at how the conversation with her had gone down it seemed more like a coercion on her part than a matter of his truly informed consent.

And there it was again. The issue of consent.

“Stiles?” Derek called again, sounding closer and more worried than before.

He didn’t look back.

The Hales seemed to have a chronic problem with that particular topic.

They’d conspired to make him join the yoga class with Derek, who had wiretapped Stiles and spied on him. They’d insisted he go to Wisconsin, which had led to all the fallout with the Argents after that along with the revelation of his magic abilities. Stiles had tried to flee, to go to California to escape them and the situation, but the Hales had simply followed. Which brought him to the present. And it was just another fucking repeat.

His memory of the domestic abuse checklist was sending up some alarming red flags.

“Stiles, where are you going?” Derek asked from closer still, just over his shoulder, probably, but the storm clouds were starting to form overhead and the wind had picked up dramatically and it was just like when he’d seen his mother, the lightning flashing silently between the clouds.

If Stiles didn’t take control of his life he would always be a victim.

_Submission is not in our nature_ , his mother wrote.

“Why did you handcuff me to the bed?” he asked without preamble, not even turning to see Derek’s probably stunned expression. He felt stunned though their bond, so their bodies were probably still touching. Somewhere in the real world where they were laid out on metal slabs like cadavers.

“You’re upset,” Derek said, and Stiles could feel his warm fingers encircle his wrist loosely, like he wasn’t sure he was allowed to touch.

Stiles wasn’t entirely certain, either.

“Answer the question, Derek,” he said quietly, watching the light-show in the sky.

He could feel Derek come to stop beside him, could see out of the corner of his eye how the man was watching him and not the brilliant spectacle above. It could be considered flattering, maybe, that  he considered Stiles to be the most important, the most interesting thing around them.

“I honestly thought you’d pick the lock,” he said, his emotions a strange mixture of affection and what seemed to be residual fear. “A part of me was hoping you would, I think. I wasn’t sure what you’d do after that, but I knew you’d have a plan.”

Stiles finally turned to him, confused.

“You hoped I’d pick the lock? Since when? And you’ve been a total douche about me getting out of the cuff and tracking you guys to the hospital.” Because what Derek was saying did not, in any way, support the evidence or Stiles’ analysis of things and he refused to admit that he was wrong in that.

Derek made a disgruntled noise. “I know, and I’m sorry I’ve been such an asshole, but I couldn’t tell you about it, about how I really felt, not with my mother so closeby. I thought you’d be able to pick the lock since you seem pretty proficient at that from the stories you’ve told me about your father’s trainings.”

Which, okay.

But _seriously_?

“What the fuck, Derek? You were literally an asshole about this earlier in the dream. Was your mom listening in on that or something?”

He nodded silently and Stiles blew out a harsh breath. Derek fucking Hale, the most confusing and annoying and frustrating person he’d ever met and he’d _expected_ Stiles to be able to get himself out of the cuff?

_What even?_

He wasn’t sure if he was more annoyed with Derek’s sudden weirdly encouraging, though completely unexpected faith in his abilities or the fact that Stiles hadn’t been able to pick the lock in the first place. That rankled a bit, actually.

“I didn’t have any wire or anything,” Stiles finally admitted grudgingly and he wasn’t sure what was going on in their conversation, but the wind had died down and the sky seemed a bit lighter than before.

“I can’t begin to apologize enough for doing that to you,” Derek said quietly, guilt flooding into Stiles until he felt like he was swaying with it, until Derek’s hands steadied him, gripping his biceps with a firm kind of warmth. “But in my mother’s home, in my _alpha’s_ home, I _must_ obey her commands. I don’t have a choice. She ordered me to contain you. I think she meant in the basement, but since she didn’t specify I was able to go with the less restrictive alternative, one that I assumed you’d be able to get out of without much trouble. Not that my actions are in any way excusable,” he finished quietly, his thumbs smoothing circles onto Stiles’ bare skin. “I know I violated your requests, the things we discussed before and if you can’t forgive me for that I understand.” And yeah, Derek understood, but was still feeling miserable about it.

“Wait, so you _wanted_ me to get out and help you defeat the alphas?” he asked as he tried to digest what Derek was saying to him, how he’d deliberately attempted to circumvent Talia’s wishes which Stiles gathered was a huge fucking deal. “But no, you made it perfectly fucking clear that you didn’t want me there, that you,” Stiles swallowed and frowned, “you did it on purpose though, didn’t you? You cuffed me like that deliberately. The things you said. You wanted me to be pissed off?”

“Only so you could better access your magic, but also because I deserved for you to be angry with me. I still do. What I did to you, even under orders, was inexcusable. Also, my mother was still near enough to hear us at the hospital and I didn’t want her to know the truth of it. I knew we needed you on our side to defeat them even though I was terrified for your safety. It wasn’t hard to sell it as the truth when I confronted you because my true emotions were so mixed, they still are. I trust your abilities, but I’d rather have you stay as far away from danger as possible rather than have you risk your life. It’s. it’s complicated.” And really, it wasn’t.

Stiles knew exactly what Derek was saying because he’d experienced the exact same mix of emotions every single time his dad had walked out the door wearing his deputy, then sheriff’s uniform, gun strapped to his hip. Stiles had known he was capable of defending himself, but hadn’t ever wanted him to have to use his skills like that.

And so in the end it hadn’t been what Stiles had thought at all. Derek had actually been trying to help him? In a weird, fucked up kind of way that made a strange kind of sense and also Derek had been going against his alpha’s wishes? Because that was a thing?

“I thought you’d handcuffed me because you knew how much it freaks me out,” Stiles admitted quietly. “I thought you were trying to drive me away from you, and that’s why you pissed me off.”

“Stiles,” Derek said quietly, his hands sliding up until they were holding his face gently. “You are the most important person in my life. I know I’m probably going to be terrible at this, sometimes, and that I clearly have been, but there is _nothing_ more important to me than you.”

And really, what could he say to that?

“You had that kind of faith in me?” Stiles asked. “You really thought that I’d be able to get out of the cuff and that I’d come help you guys?”

Derek ducked his head, then looked up at Stiles and yeah, that actually was a pretty calculated move, but it was still beautiful, so whatever. “I have absolute faith in you,” he said. “The way you handled Gerard and Deucalion was brilliant. Dangerous, but brilliant. I only wish we could have coordinated better, but-”

“But your mom wouldn’t agree to that. Yeah, I got it.”

“I _am_ sorry, though,” Derek said again. “I’m sorry that I lied to you and used you. I’m sorry that I put you in an uncomfortable position and that you were hurt defending our pack. We,” he seemed to struggle with what he was about to say, but took a fortifying breath and looked Stiles in the eyes. “We don’t deserve you, Stiles. I think I understand why Anya never joined us, why she refused to bow to my grandmother’s will even though I’m sure she was pressured constantly.”

“Submission is not in our nature,” Stiles said quietly and Derek tilted his head curiously. “That was something my mother wrote in her letter to me and,” he bit his lip, “I think I get what she was saying, too.”

Derek’s brows quirked and a complicated mixture of affection, anticipation and worry flowed through their bond before his head shot up and he looked away, eyes unfocused like he was listening to something Stiles couldn’t hear.

“What is it? What’s wrong?” Stiles asked. He could feel Derek’s turbulent emotions even though he was trying hard to hide the sudden spike of fear, of dread. “Don’t even think about lying to me, Derek,” he said quietly, though it had gotten to the point where he was pretty sure the warning was no longer necessary.

He hoped it wasn’t.

But then Derek looked at him, clearly torn, and he closed his eyes to gather himself. It looked like he was still half-listening to something else before he nodded and finally looked Stiles in the eyes. A kind of resolve solidified within Derek, banishing all of the other emotions except for a savage kind of feeling Stiles wasn’t familiar with, but it made him want to rend things with his teeth, and yeah, it was definitely a wolfish kind of desire.

“When the twins and Kali took Ennis’ body,” Derek said roughly, fangs instead of teeth, “they saw your dad. He’d come to investigate the noises and they took him, too.”

For a heartbeat, Stiles let that settle in his mind, the concept slippery and so at odds with what he’d expected to have happened at the end of the night that it was a struggle for him to understand the meaning behind the words. But then the rage, Derek’s rage, seemed to tap into the reservoir that lived inside his own breast and it was like the storm clouds that had dispersed from overhead had settled within his chest in a growing storm more ferocious than any before.

Because they’d tried to take his brother and had been punished for it, but since they took his dad he wouldn’t stop until he’d destroyed them completely.

Stiles’ roar woke them both.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so many feels  
> What do you think of Derek's explanation? Do you buy it? Do you want to pet/punch him?  
> And seriously? Fuck alphas.


	37. Chapter 37

Peter Hale wasn’t the first person Stiles had expected to see when he jolted awake from the dream, but that worked, too, because as soon as he saw the douche Stiles was launching himself at him, the scream of rage still burning his throat and echoing in the small exam room as he wrapped his hands firmly around Peter’s neck.

For an instant he seemed too startled to react, but then his eyes flashed blue and Stiles was being hauled back, iron-strong arms locked around his ribs

“That’s,” Peter said, voice tight before he cleared his throat and any damage Stiles had happened to cause healed, “hardly a way for you to treat your packmate.” His expression was the same sassy assholisness Stiles had come to recognize as his default, but beneath it was an underlying discomfort that made Stiles’ lips curl back in a parody of a smile.

“You’re right,” he said quietly and watched Peter attempt not to twitch at his honeyed tone, probably not at all what he'd been expecting to hear from someone who had just acted so unhinged. “Because if, at the end of this, my father isn’t in _perfect_ condition, I’m going to make you suffer ten times the damage they inflict on him, and I’m going to find out exactly how to keep you from healing until you’re _begging_ me to end it. This is your fault, Peter, and I won’t _ever_ forget it.”

Peter tried to bluff his fear away with a scoff, but Stiles could see the terror in his eyes. The arms around him, Derek’s of course, conveyed his quiet confidence and woah, he didn’t even seem worried at _all_ that Stiles had just told his uncle he was basically going to torture him and yeah, points to Derek for that one because it was taking the whole _supportive boyfriend_ thing to the next level.

_Supportive mate?_

Whatever.

Rollin was there, too, Stiles belatedly realized. He was watching the exchange without his standard good humor, but his evident ire was directed at Peter, not Stiles, so there was that.

"Even when we recover the sheriff you're going to pay for your betrayal," Rollin said, tone dark and it kind of looked like Peter wanted to bail on the proceedings, but then Isaac and Boyd slipped into the room, expressionless as they flanked him. Guards watching their prisoner.

"You're going to help us find him, aren't you, Peter?" Isaac asked with a savage kind of grin and yeah, he was clearly no longer the lowest ranking member of the pack, that honor was apparently Peter's, who looked a bit shell-shocked as he seemed to come to the realization as well.

"Of course he will," Boyd said, and Peter closed his mouth without speaking.

Because they weren't giving him any other choice. The pack was siding with Stiles over Peter, and he didn’t know what to make of that, though the implications were clear enough. Stiles gently pulled himself out of Derek's comforting hold until only the skin on the sides of their arms were touching and for the first time in a while, he felt like he was in control of something.

"Where are they keeping him?" he asked the room at large and Rollin nodded to him, an acknowledgement of something Stiles wasn't even sure of. His authority? His rank? How much of a badass he was?

_Whatever_.

Rollin turned to his brother-in-law, arms folded across his broad chest. All of the werewolves had gotten clothes at some point, and even shoes, apparently, with the exception of Derek who was only wearing boxer briefs and didn't seem at all concerned about that. Because of course he wasn't. Stiles was still shirtless, too, though the mountain ash had been cleaned off of him. Maybe by Deaton, but he wasn’t in the room with them.

"Tell us the location, Peter, and I might be persuaded to allow you to keep your tongue for the evening," and woah, Rollin wasn’t fucking around, either. "You may be my mate's brother, but Stiles is a far more important asset than you could ever be and his father's safety is paramount to us."

And that.

Stiles actually had mixed feelings about that.

On the one hand, fuck _yeah_ his dad's safety was more important than pretty much anything else, but on the other hand he didn't know that the threat of torture was the right way to go, which was some serious pot-kettle thinking since he'd literally just finished promising to make Peter pay for his infractions with blood. It was just different hearing the same kind of threat from an actual authority figure, though.

Derek's arms brushed against his a bit, supportive and steady. As if he was confident that he didn’t need to attempt to restrain Stiles again. Probably thinking he wasn't going to do anything rash like bust into Deaton's potions cabinet and steal some mountain ash, which, hey, that was exactly what he was going to do.

Stiles eeled his way past Derek and skirted around the other men to get to it, deftly breaking the lock with a hard twist, then grabbed the jar he'd brought there, which looked to contain even more of the substance than before.

And that was pretty much perfect.

"More body painting?" Peter asked, because even when he was outnumbered and hated, he was still an asshole. And that was really enough of that.

Stiles turned to him slowly, then looked down at the jar, considering. "What do you think would happen if I forced you to swallow some of this?" he asked evenly, like he was merely curious. He was, actually. Stiles didn’t know what it would do to a werewolf.

Peter paled.

Which was a pretty good answer.

"Because," Stiles continued lightly, "it's my understanding that what mountain ash does is largely determined by the magic user who casts it. Right?"

Derek nodded, as did the others.

Peter looked vaguely sick.

"Now, Peter, when I threatened you earlier you were thinking about me using weapons on you, right? Whips and chains, maybe even a bat?" And Stiles knew he was crossing some of those morality lines Scott had always drawn, but he couldn't bring himself to care, not after what he'd already gone through, what Scott had gone through in part because of Peter, who had probably tipped the alphas off to his best friend’s existence in the first place. Had told them it was one of the soft spots of Stiles that they could press to get a quick reaction. Scott was one of the only people that Stiles would drop anything to help, to save. Just like his father. Resolve hardened within him like armor around his soul.

He wouldn't allow himself to be be wounded again.

"I'm not that big of a fan of knives, though," he said, casually indicating the marks on his chest because he'd survived that much, already. Stiles had survived Cassandra’s attempts to magic him to death. He taken out two psychopathic alphas with some magic of his own. He was confident he could take down a few more. How could a beta possibly stand in his way?

"So you know, I'd like to think that this kind of thing," Stiles shook the mountains ash, "is more my speed."

"Poison is a woman's weapon," Peter ground out and earned a double punch to the stomach from Boyd and Isaac, who waited for him to take a few wheezing breaths before they hauled him back upright.

"While statistics may support your claim, that's still a dick thing to say and yeah I get that you were taking a dig at my sexuality, but I don’t really give a fuck what you think about me. You’re a snake,Peter. A pathetic whisperer who poisons people against each other. You plot and you wait in the shadows because you’re too much of a coward to fight someone head on. Well,” he amended, thinking about the ritual and the challenge, “you don’t fight unless you’re sure of your victory. Am I right?" he asked the room at large and Derek’s eyes went from Stiles to Peter and back before he gave a slow nod. Isaac was next, then Boyd and finally Rollin.

And that said a lot about Peter, that his own pack was willing to admit his serious character flaws so readily.

“At least I’m not a pathetic human who uses tricks to get what he wants,” Peter snarled and Stiles watched as Boyd and Isaac’s claws dug into his biceps until blood began to run down his arms. “I should have killed you that night in the clearing. You’ll take Talia’s pack from her. That’s your goal, isn’t it?”

His accusations were telling.

Stiles snorted and rolled the jar of mountain ash between his palms. It was always warmer than he expected it to be. A pleasant kind of warmth, almost like it was vibrating with barely-contained energy. “You know what, Peter? No. I don’t want to be an alpha, or lead a pack, I just want the people I love to be safe.” Which could include them being safe from influence, but he didn’t say it.

It was Peter’s turn to scoff, like that was the stupidest thing he’d ever heard. “Everyone wants power,” he said, like it was one of the laws of the universe, but Rollin was shaking his head.

“Brother,” he said sadly, “you never could stand to be wrong, could you?”

The look Peter gave him was pure disdain, but when he opened his mouth to unleash more vitriol Rollin shook his head again and looked at Stiles. "I don't know that we really do need to hear this one speak,” he said evenly. Like his earlier threat to take out Peter’s tongue was still on the table. It probably was.

He’d need it to beg for death, Stiles didn't say. That was too dark a thought to share, and gave him a kind of uncomfortable feeling in the pit of his stomach.

Not that it stopped him from continuing.

"Not after I’m through with him,” Stiles said lightly, then looked back at where Peter was trembling, from pain or rage or both he didn’t care. “So what I'm going to do is perform a little experiment on you."

Peter was glaring, but there was palpable fear there.

"You're going to tell us everything you know about the alphas, where they are, and what they're planning to do. For every lie you tell me, I'm going to force a spoonful of mountain ash down your throat and then believe that a specific organ in your body is failing. Do you have any idea what organ failure feels like, Peter?"

He didn't, but it looked like he had no trouble imagining it, if his extreme pallor was any indication.

Stiles didn't exactly know, either, but he'd been by his mother's side the entire time she’d been dying and knew it was an excruciatingly painful way to go.

"Well, if you don’t want to find out first-hand, then I suggest you speak," he said, and Peter told them everything.

Derek's silent pride wasn't something he thought he'd earned as Stiles walked back over and stood beside him, but he accepted it, anyway.

  
  


"The old distillery?" Stiles asked. And really, Beacon Hills had kind of gone downhill over the years. There was even an entire abandoned warehouse district that he would have thought the alphas would have been more inclined to use because it was pretty extensive and unused even by stupid teenages because of how dangerously broken down everything was, but whatever, apparently they went for the place in the middle of the woods, instead, which actually made a lot of sense, too.

Stiles had dragged Scott out to the distillery once, right after he’d first gotten his driver’s license and had been feeling particularly invincible and incredibly stupid. There were rumors about the place, that people had been murdered there once. Something about finding blood in the dirt outside, smeared across the cement floor, but that had happened years before and as far as Stiles knew, no bodies had ever showed up. The blood had been there, though. Well, at least that’s what Stiles had told Scott when he’d walked over a dark stain on the concrete and he’d been so freaked out he’d had to use his inhaler. Stiles had maybe felt a little bad about that, until he saw the weird spiral etched into the metal siding of the building, and then he’d just felt kind of wary for some reason, like something horrible _had_ happened there. They’d left shortly afterward, not even bothering to use the spray paint they’d taken along with them to add to the haphazard collage of colors other dumb teens had tagged along the outer walls.

He’d asked his dad about the distillery afterward, but he’d just shaken his head and warned Stiles to avoid it. He’d said it was a bad place to be and if he ever caught Stiles there he’d make him take apart, clean, and put back together his old target-shooting rifle every week until he left the house for college.

Stiles had pinched his fingers in that thing every single time he’d tried to clean it growing up, so he’d just nodded and actually hadn’t been back to the distillery since. Not that he’d been particularly eager to, after the first time, regardless of his dad’s warning. The place had felt dark, foreboding, and he was going back.

He wasn’t particularly eager to, but at least he was more familiar with it than he’d been with the old hospital. Stiles had a mental map of the area in his head, the exists and roads that led up to it and the places inside that would be ideal for the alphas to utilize as blind spots and ambush points. He scrounged around until he found a marker, then went to the metal table he’d been passed out on and began sketching the layout.

“Here’s the main building,” he showed them. “The road is on this side, but that joins with the highway, so not many people use it in case they’re seen.” He and Scott certainly hadn’t, for fear of being spotted by one of his dad’s deputies and pulled over just because it was Stiles and that had happened one too many times for him to risk getting caught with something as incriminating as spray paint in the back.

“This other one is gravel,” he pointed out, “and leads to the main Preserve road over by the abandoned logging station,” and seriously, Beacon Hills had some serious abandonment issues.

Rollin watched him, his humor returning slowly until it almost looked like he had a fond smile on his face as Stiles outlined everything he could remember about the inside and outside of the building.

“Did you go there often?” Derek asked as he rambled to a close.

Stiles shrugged. “Once, but I know the area pretty well.” He’d gone on patrol often enough with his dad to know the ins and outs of most places around town.

“Once,” Boyd repeated, glancing down at the doodles. “You went there once and know the entire layout of the place?” His tone was completely flat, like he couldn’t even muster the effort to inject as much dubiousness as his words implied.

“Uh, yeah.” Stiles wasn’t sure why they were wasting time on that.

Peter shook his head, the most he’d moved since the whole thing began. “Well, that hardly inspires confidence, now does it?” he asked, glancing at the other werewolves.

Stiles set the marker down and leaned forward with his palms on the edge of the table. “You’re hardly in a position to be offering critiques, Peter. Just remember what’s going to happen to you when we get back because even if my dad is in _pristine_ condition, you’re not going to get out of this unscathed.”

The fear was back, but so was a kind of petulance Stiles had kind of expected to have shown up earlier. “What do you think Talia would say if she heard you threatening me?” he asked, pale eyes narrowed at him. Boyd and Isaac still had him firmly in hand and seemed to be tightening their grip even though Peter hadn’t made a move to approach him.

“I don’t care what _anyone_ says, Peter,” Stiles replied, voice so low it was almost a whisper.

And that seemed to finally shock him enough to shut him up.

Stiles breathed out and leaned back. “Right, questions? No, okay let’s get going. Who has transportation?”

Rollin kind of shifted his weight from foot to foot, though, and that probably wasn’t a good thing. “Talia and Laura just left to take Scott to our house,” he told Stiles because he’d been the one who’d been passed out for that part of things, apparently. “Erica is with the Argents, just in case the alphas try to make a move on them.”

And wow, that had probably taken a considerable amount of arguing to make happen, separating Allison from Scott, though both of the Argents were pretty good at listening if things were presented to them logically. Stiles wasn’t sure Talia was the best person for that job, though.

Derek didn’t seem surprised by the revelation of where the other members of the Hale pack were, so that must have happened when he’d woken up to tattle on Peter. The fact that Talia hadn’t taken Peter with her or taken him out was not lost on Stiles. It actually made his earlier decision even easier to accept, but that wasn’t something he was dwelling on because there were more important things to worry about.

Like his dad.

“There’s another car, though, right?” Stiles prompted. He didn’t give two shits where Talia was, well, except that apparently she had Scott and shit he’d been fucking bitten by a werewolf.

“Wait, is Scott turning?” he asked and Rollin nodded.

“It’s fortunate that the full moon is still a few weeks away. He’ll have plenty of time to find his anchor and gain control before then,” Rollin said easily. He was the closest to the door and glanced out at something Stiles couldn’t see.

And while Stiles certainly wouldn’t have wished the whole werewolf thing on his friend, especially without Scott’s consent, he was glad it had taken and that the bite hadn’t killed him. But that raised a whole new slew of issues he wasn’t ready to think about. Except what he felt was the most important one.

“Deucalion’s dead, right? And Gerard?” he asked because if they weren’t he still had some work to do on that front. Stiles had watched way too many horror movies to be comfortable leaving enemies of that caliber alive. He wasn’t keen to star in a sequel to the already fucked up life he’d fallen into.

And Jesus, what _even_?

“They’re dead,” Derek said quietly from behind him and Stiles twisted, and really _saw_ him for the first time since they’d woken up. He looked rumpled, even though he was shirtless, like he’d gone through a pretty brutal fight and had somehow come out of it victorious. He felt pretty exhausted, too, Stiles could tell, and that was kind of odd. But then again Stiles hadn’t ever really paid attention to how Derek felt after their dreams, how Stiles magic usage had affected him and that was kind of shitty, actually. They’d both have to be better at taking care of and listening to each other.

Later, they’d have time to rest, and sort out all the shit between them, but first they had to save Stiles’ dad.

“Good, two down, four to go, or is Ennis really dead? What about their emissary?”

“Derek destroyed the crone,” Deaton’s voice said, followed by his person. He stepped past Rollin into the room and gave Stiles a considering look. “and you destroyed both Gerard and Deucalion with a powerful extended pulse of electrical energy. I’m impressed with how you handled yourself tonight, Stiles, and while I might argue with the method you used to impart your next plan with everyone,” he nodded to the permanent marker drawing on his exam table, which made Stiles blush a bit because he really hadn’t been thinking about the whole destruction of property thing, “I have to say it’s a good one. I was not altogether supportive of Talia’s plan to keep you behind during the confrontation earlier, and it pleases me that you were able to assist despite her attempt to keep you out of it.”

Behind him Derek nudged Stiles a little, enough to convey his guilt at having been party to that.

“Are you going to help us or not, Deaton?” Stiles asked. Flattery was fine, but they needed to hit the road. From what he could see through the high windows it was almost dawn, and fuck he’d been out for a long time. His dad had been a captive overnight and the urge to just bolt for the door was almost too much to ignore, but Rollin was in the way and they still had some logistics to coordinate. It wouldn’t do to just rush into things. That was a terrible plan.

Deaton nodded, raising an eyebrow at the jar of mountain ash Stiles had confiscated.

“Right, so you probably have a car, and Derek? Is the camaro around? I assume you didn’t run me here.”

“It’s out front,” he answered, brushing his fingertips across the back of Stiles’ arm and he nodded.

“Good, I’m driving the camaro, I’ll take Derek and Isaac. Deaton can take Rollin and Boyd and we’ll incapacitate Peter and lock him up somewhere in here. Ideas?” he said, turning to the vet, but Peter was sputtering too loudly to ignore.

“I can help you fight,” he argued. “There are three of them, and they’re not just betas, they’re all _alphas_. They’ve _killed their packs_ , _other_ alphas, they’re far more powerful than any of you.”

“I took care of them all on my own,” Stiles said mildly. “If I’d have known no one was going to finish the job I would have cut off their heads myself.”

Peter growled at him, but then his arms were being twisted so he fell to his knees with a pained grunt.

“If any of us had killed one of them he would have become an alpha,” Derek said, and that was one way to attain power Stiles had only been vaguely aware of. He hadn’t known it transcended packs, though. He’d just seen the whole Charlie and Gerard murder thing.

But still.

“Which is why Peter is staying here, unless he wants to risk the dangers of being caught in friendly fire.” And really, Stiles wouldn’t be very put-out if he accidentally decimated his mate’s uncle. The guy was a fucking snake in the grass.

Rollin shifted his weight again and Stiles glanced up at him. He was watching Peter, though, with a disgruntled look on his face. “Talia wouldn’t approve of us leaving him here, even if he was contained.”

Stiles didn’t give a shit what Talia disapproved of, but he could feel Derek’s miserable kind of agreement. And that was fucking bullshit.

“Then we kill him now,” Stiles said. He was done fucking around.

If Rollin had been the only one to protest, Stiles was pretty sure he could have gotten away with speeding things up by just taking out Peter with a well-placed electrical blow, but Isaac’s eyes widened and he looked a bit panicked at the thought, so reluctantly he blew out a harsh breath.

“Fine,” Stiles said, “we’ll take the jackass in the camaro, but if you even think about double-crossing us again I will gladly kill you myself. I’ll even enjoy it.”

Peter glared at him, but didn’t dare retort.

It was a small victory.

“Alright, let’s roll,” Stiles said and headed for the door with Derek followed close behind him.

They were going to fight and they were going to win.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Your comments just blow me away, kittens...phew!
> 
> Stiles will not be fucked with, I think that much is pretty clear ^_^


	38. Chapter 38

The fact that Derek didn’t even argue when Stiles snatched the car keys from Isaac was a pretty significant gesture on his part. He insisted on sitting up front, though, because of course he did. Isaac ended up behind Stiles, basically folded in half in the cramped seat while Peter was behind Derek, likewise smushed. Stiles was pretty sure the seating arrangement was just in case Uncle Creeper decided to do something crazy like attempt to choke Stiles out while he was driving and yeah, he wouldn’t put it past the douche to try it so he was actually pretty glad Derek had glared at the other guy until he finally caved. There may or may not have been some growling involved, but whatever, it worked.

So they buckled their seatbelts at Stiles' insistence and were just pulling out of the small fenced parking lot behind the clinic when Derek rested his hand on top of Stiles’ where it gripped the shifter. It was kind of a sweet move, but Derek wasn’t doing it for that reason. Well, not just because of that reason. He was actually pretty focused on something else, his mood pensive and alert.

“My father’s calling my mother,” Derek said quietly and Stiles swore under his breath. He knew he shouldn’t have even considered the possibility that Rollin would keep anything from Talia because they were mates and she was his alpha, which was actually a pretty strange power dynamic to have added to their relationship, but whatever, that was just the way they worked and Stiles definitely should have taken that into account when they’d made their plans at the clinic, but at least he could get his own car-load to the distillery first.

“Hold on, guys,” Stiles said and hoped the sheriff’s department deputies were all so concerned with looking for the missing sheriff that they wouldn’t be on their normal patrols, not that it really mattered since he’d had those memorized from the time he could read a map. He slipped the car into second and gunned it down the narrow alley between the mostly vacant buildings, then into third as the alley joined up with the street that backed up to a few of the downtown businesses. No one drove on it so early in the morning and damn, the camaro handled nicely.

“Sweet ride, dude,” Stiles said as he wove his way around a few other cars that happened to be out.

Derek wasn’t doing a very good job containing his shock.

“What?" Stiles said, glancing at him for a split second before focusing on the road, "Is this about my driving because I told you I could drive." He downshifted to take a tight turn so they’d avoid the light on Maple that inevitably stayed red for four solid minutes even when there were no other cars in sight. He sped through a vacant grocery store parking lot and joined back up with the main road with a smooth shift and turn.

"More of your mini academy training?" Derek asked tightly. He actually looked kind of tense, one hand on the handle above the door, the other holding into the side of the seat.

Stiles smiled and glanced in the rearview at Isaac. "You should probably let Erica know what's going on." He took another tight turn and they were suddenly on an empty stretch of county road that not many used because it didn't really go anywhere but closer to the preserve. Stiles floored it.

The car drove like a fucking _dream_.

"Yeah, mini academy and half a dozen defensive and evasive driving courses. My dad wouldn't let me out on the road until he was sure I could handle myself in pretty much any conceivable situation. Not that my jeep could ever hope to move like this. Jesus, Derek, this thing is a _beast_."

Derek kind of grunted in response, then pointed in front of them. "There's a speed trap a half mile ahead," he said and Stiles swore. Even if he slowed down the deputy would probably recognize and pull him over anyway, which would lead to all kinds of uncomfortable questions about his dad’s disappearance. And yeah, that was his life in Beacon Hills, one of the epicenters of town gossip, pretty much since his mom had gotten sick. Add to that his dad's prominent role in the small society and Stiles' own successes and tribulations and he'd become somewhat of a prodigal son.

It wasn’t a role he particularly relished. Especially not with his dad in actual, imminent danger.

"Watch your heads," he said and at the next intersecting road he used the parking brake and a hard turn of the wheel to head up the back roads and circumvent the trap. The move was punctuated by a crack and Peter's muttered curses.

"Told ya to watch your head," Stiles said, but he was more focused on the sharp curves in the road. Again, his jeep hadn't ever been the most nimble creature, so he'd largely avoided that area, but the camaro just ate the pavement like it was made for it.

And really, that was pretty much the reason for driving that kind of a car.

"Might have to steal this one next," Stiles said as he had to downshift to second in order to navigate one of the switchback curves.

Isaac breathed a laugh Stiles was pretty sure he could feel against the back of his head. "Why not, right, you've already taken the others."

"My thoughts exactly, though I'm pretty shocked that you guys were able to drive the SUV in the condition it was in. From what I saw the entire back end was crumpled,” he took the next left, a little-used road that was supposed to have led to a subdivision a decade before, but had failed before any work could even start on it besides a few nicely paved streets and was largely used as a make-out spot for wayward teens. Which unfortunately Stiles only knew from hearsay and not actual experience. He’d been a bit of an outcast in high school despite having been on the lacrosse team.

"We mostly drove on county roads so we wouldn't be pulled over and the damage wasn't extensive enough to warrant leaving it behind. Plus we needed the storage space to fit all of our stuff." There was an electric buzz. "Erica says they're in their way. Well, she and Chris are meeting us there. Allison’s going to see Scott."

And _fuck_.

“Do they know he’s been bitten?” Stiles asked. He wasn’t sure how that was going to work out, what with the Argent family legacy and all. Shit, he was kind of inclined to take a left up ahead and going to the Hale house to try and protect Scott, just in case Allison took after her aunt, but then again she loved him pretty fiercely. Stiles didn’t think he’d ever met a couple more in love than them. Well, besides his own parents.

But adding the whole werewolf dynamic to the mix was troublesome.

“The Argents were there,” Derek said, “They helped clean up the aftermath of the fight. Allison tried to get us to bring Scott to the hospital, but Chris saw that the bite had taken and insisted he go with Talia and Laura, instead. He didn’t want to endanger his daughter, just in case, and knew that having an alpha tend to him was the safest option for everyone involved, even though it wasn't mother who gave him the bite.” But he was feeling conflicted about that for some reason.

Stiles glanced over at him, then back at the road. “Just in case of what?”

“Newly bitten werewolves often find it hard to control the shift,” Peter said smoothly, his smugness almost palpable and Stiles fought back the urge to curl his upper lip in a snarl. Which was weird, but whatever, Peter generally pissed him off.

“It’s hard to find an anchor, at first,” Isaac said and Stiles hadn’t considered that.

But wait.

“It’s Allison,” he said. Because it was. “His anchor’s Allison.”

Peter scoffed and Stiles was pretty tempted to brain him with another sharp turn, but there weren’t any on that stretch of road leading to the distillery. “You can’t simply _guess_ another person’s anchor. It could be any number of things; anger or a certain memory or even a place.”

“Except that it’s Allison,” Stiles said with utter confidence because really? As far as he was concerned that was it for Scott. He’d been head over heels in love with her since her first day at school when she'd borrowed a pencil from him. It was actually kind of a grossly sweet love story. The kind of romantic comedy Stiles would never willingly admit to having seen, let alone enjoyed watching.

“We’ll see how he reacts when she goes to the house,” Derek said, supportive while not inciting more argument from either side. It was a diplomatic move. Strangely so since Derek hadn't ever seemed all that good at being a peacemaker in the past.

_Huh_.

"What happens when he finds his anchor?" Stiles asked. They were still more than ten minutes out, even going double the speed limit. Wisely, no one commented on his lawbreaking.

"When a werewolf discovers his anchor," Peter said silkily and Stiles wanted to shrug away from him and his tone and his voice and yeah, the dude was _super_ creepy bordering on skeevy, "they are better able to control their shift."

"It makes it easier to focus your senses, too," Isaac added and out of all of them, Stiles was the most inclined to listen to him because he hadn't been born a werewolf. Isaac was the one who had gone through what Scott was most likely experiencing. Fuck. Probably locked up in the Hale's basement or something because woah, Talia hadn't bitten him.

"Wait, is Scott an alpha?" he asked, sparing a glance at Derek, who had his eyes fixed on the road ahead. At least he wasn't gripping the handle or the seat like he was afraid they'd crash at any moment. His hand was actually still resting warmly on top of Stiles' and his emotions were a blur of conflicting feelings that never settled long enough for Stiles to get more than a vague impression of his worry. Probably about what was going to happen when the reached their destination.

As far as Stiles was concerned they'd made their plan and that was it. They'd do it, hope for the best, and walk out of there with his father. And if his dad wasn't intact, if he was damaged in _any_ way, Stiles was pretty sure he'd decimate the entire area in his wrath.

"Scott's not an alpha," Derek said quietly. "Since he wasn't the one who killed Deucalion he didn't inherit the alpha's power. You might have, though, in a way." Derek was not comfortable with that.

"Wait, what?" Stiles asked, glancing at Derek, then in the rearview mirror at Isaac, who shrugged.

"What my nephew is trying to say is that since you destroyed not one, but two highly powered alphas, your own power may have grown as well. We're not certain, of course, since this type of thing is highly unusual. Actually, as far as I know this hasn't actually happened before, a spark killing an alpha, and you've managed to destroy two of them."

"I'm not against adding three more," Stiles said as they sped down the deserted road.

Derek wasn't very happy about that, but he didn't say anything.

"If Talia knows about this do you think she'll leave Scott to come deal with it?" Stiles asked.

"This is still Mother's land, all of Beacon Hills and the surrounding area is considered Hale pack territory. She'll likely head to the distillery as soon as she's convinced Scott is no longer a danger to himself or others. We have some cells in the basement where he can stay until he gains better control of his wolf.

"And how long will that take?"

"It depends on the wolf," Peter replied. He sounded bored. Because of course Peter sounded bored when they were heading to face certain death. Well, some people's certain death. Stiles didn't plan on dying, and his dad wasn't going to, either.

Because he wouldn’t let that happen.

Stiles and his crew would still probably get there first, unless Talia had left as soon as Rollin had called her from Deaton's parking lot. The Hale house was close enough to that end of the preserve that she could beat them if she drove quickly, or shifted and cut through the woods in her wolf form, in which case Stiles wasn't sure what would happen. She'd pretty much failed at the whole hostage negotiation thing the last time around and _fuck_ , that had complicated everything since Scott was suddenly a werewolf. Stiles was not onboard with the same thing happening to his dad, especially since there was apparently a greater risk of the bite not working the older the person was. No, it was best to avoid that kind of eventuality.

"Any of you take a hostage negotiation course?" Stiles asked as he sped around a corner, then had to use the parking brake again to keep from plowing into a free, but despite the quiet noise of surprise Derek made, Stiles had complete control the entire time as he surged around the next bend in the road. They were getting into the undeveloped woodland on the outskirts of the preserve.

"You think you can negotiate with them?" Peter asked. Well, sneered.

Stiles didn't appreciate his tone.

"Creepy uncles who are already on thin ice should probably keep disparaging comments to themselves," he said and took another turn sharply enough to hear the satisfying crack of Peter's skull against the hard interior of the car. Which was only partially on purpose, but it was still satisfying.

Derek stroked his thumb over the top of Stiles' hand where it gripped the shifter. "Boyd's taken a class, but none of us are exactly trained." He was intrigued and worried and, there was that loyalty again.

It wasn’t exactly the best news, but it wasn’t the worst, either. Though it kind of sucked that they didn't have Boyd in the car with them since that would have been useful because as it stood they were most certainly going to beat Deaton's group to the distillery.

"Then we stick to the plan, and if Talia shows up, well, when she shows up, she isn't going to be doing the negotiations," Stiles said because no, he wasn't going to trust his dad in her hands, not after she'd proven herself incapable of utilizing her greatest assets, endangering her entire pack, and contributing to the accidental werewolfification of Stiles' best friend. She was on alpha probation, in his mind.

"Do you honestly think you'll have any control over our alpha's actions?" Peter asked, incredulous and there was a kind of anger behind his words that made Stiles think of Peter's plotting to become an alpha himself. His failed plot. Stiles was going to make sure it stayed that way.

"I think," he said quietly as he downshifted to navigate the gravel road, "that if you think she has any control over me then you haven't been paying attention."

Derek was conflicted.

Stiles wasn't.

  
  


No one was outside to greet them when they arrived at the distillery and got out of the camaro. It looked exactly like Stiles remembered even though he hadn't been there in years. That boded well for the plan. Well, at least it probably meant the rest of the pack would know what to expect if the confrontation had to take place inside, which seemed to be what was going to happen since, yeah, no one was around.

"Honey, we're home," Stiles shouted because he wanted to see how provocable they were.

And yeah, it worked because Kali emerged from the shadow of the doorway and did her slinky walk over the bare dirt, but stopped after a few feet, still far enough away for her to dart back inside if she felt threatened. She certainly looked a bit cagey, like she was on edge and yeah, Stiles was pretty sure he would have been, too, if he'd been faced with what amounted to a werewolf firing squad. Which wasn't actually a point in their favor because cornered animals tended to lash out.

"If you hand over my dad and he's completely unharmed, I might consider letting you live," Stiles said, Derek's warm presence at his side as Isaac flanked him and Peter was somewhere behind them.

Kali shorted disparagingly. "I can tell when you're lying, kid," she said and Stiles had the sudden urge to test out his mountain ash organ failure theory, but that probably wasn't going to happen, so he just forced himself to shrug easily.

"I don’t think you stuck around to see what happened to Deucalion and Gerard after what they did to my best friend. You have to understand that if anything happens to my dad, I'm going to kill you; slowly and as painfully as I can possibly manage. " That time he wasn't lying.

She seemed to get that because her eyes darted between them like she was waiting for one of the werewolves to contradict him, to reign Stiles in and have a chat with him about morality or whatnot.

None of them did.

"We want safe passage out of Hale territory," she blurted out, the previous power in her voice gone quiet. Instead she sounded a bit lost, like she wasn't even sure what she was doing there in the first place, which was weird because-

"You have proven yourselves a danger to humans, and as such you will not be allowed to live to harm any others," Talia said and Stiles whipped around to see that, yep, Talia was there and she was totally naked. So apparently she'd come in her wolf form which was. Yeah. That was very Hale-esque of her. Stiles was actually kind of bummed that he hadn't caught a glimpse of what she looked like fully shifted, but then again it didn't really matter and, more importantly, she was definitely fucking up his negotiation. Again.

"But we might be able to reach some kind of a middle ground if you plead a convincing enough case," Stiles said to Talia, putting as much stubbornness into his voice as he could. Derek shifted uncomfortably beside him, but once again didn't take a side.

Which was kind of a cop-out, but whatever.

Kali, of course, picked up on their conflict and seemed even more uncomfortable because of it. She started to back up into the distillery, but Stiles stepped forward, motioning for the others to stay back so he was pretty much standing between them and Kali. If she went in there he was at a severe disadvantage, even knowing the layout. Stiles knew he wouldn’t be able to hold his own in close quarters against three cornered alphas with his dad still inside. If he knew his dad was safe Stiles would just light the place up with another lightning surge, if he was able to produce one after having just done it the night before, but he’d take the hit if it meant hurting the people who had hurt his family.

But Kali was looking edgy and Stiles couldn’t risk it. Not yet.

"Just tell us what's going on, and we’ll go from there," he said quietly, and something in his expression or position must have done it for her because she finally nodded slowly, though she didn't move out of the doorway where she was half-hidden.

"Deucalion found me a few years ago. My alpha was a complete bitch-”

Stiles bit his lip to hold in the obvious dog joke.

“-and Deucalion explained how I could get rid of her and gain more power than I'd ever imagined. Ennis was already allied with him and, after I did what he'd instructed I felt more in control and for the first time it was like I was in charge of my life. It wasn't easy, but I finished it like he said and joined him and Ennis as well. The twins were recruited shortly after me and we've been going across the country since then, but I never really knew what he was after, what he was looking for until we heard about a spark who was being courted by both the Argents and the Hales. Deucalion said he couldn't stay out of such an unusual showdown."

So Stiles had just been a pawn to all of them, it seemed. None wanting the others to have control of _the spark_ and yeah, that was some bullshit. It also kind of shed some light on Talia's involvement in things, and if Stiles was the paranoid sort, which he admittedly was at times, it was kind of suspicious that he'd even found the Hales when he'd moved to Chicago. Well, it would have been suspicious if anyone other than Scott had told him about the yoga studio. Though it had probably been Allison's suggestion in the first place, but even though she was an Argent Stiles was pretty well convinced she hadn't been put up to it by her estranged extended family, or even her father. She wasn't a devious person, well, not like that.

"Why is a spark who is a part of a pack so desirable? Why didn't anyone go after my mother?" he asked and Kali took a single step toward him before Derek's growl made her stop. Her eyes flashed red, but that was the extent of her demonstration of aggression.

"A spark who is willing to submit to an alpha is rare," she said, looking between him and where he assumed Talia was standing, somewhere over his left shoulder.

Stiles wanted to see his dad, he wanted to make sure he was okay and that the twins hadn't hurt him, but they were still negotiating and that kind of thing took time. "So you think assaulting my best friend and kidnapping my father is going to endear me to you guys?" he asked, genuinely baffled by their apparent bizarre thought process. Unless they were playing up the kind of abusive, submissive kind of relationship he really wasn’t sure how they could possibly think that was the way to gain his loyalty or whatever it was they were after. Then again Deucalion had actually tried to have his ex girlfriend kill him and _fuck_.

“What about this?” he asked, gesturing toward his exposed chest, to the vivid scars there that stood out in stark white on his flushed skin. “What about Deucalion trying to get his emissary Cassandra to cut my heart out last year, back when I wasn’t even aware of werewolves or hunters or sparks or _any_ of this?”

Kali gave him a kind of shocked, baffled look, then focused back over his shoulder and Stiles turned enough to see that Talia was growling and had advanced almost to the point where she was even with him and that was seriously close enough. He needed answers, not more complications.

"Sorry about this," he said and took out the unstoppered jar of mountain ash from his pant’s pocket and flung it at Talia, believing it would form a ring and sure enough it landed silently on the dirt in a perfect circle that instantly contained her.

She snarled viciously, Isaac and Peter all shouting in confusion, but Stiles was already moving toward Kali, who backed up into the dark of the distillery. He made it to the doorway before Derek's strong arms wrapped around him and made to haul him back, but Stiles dug in his heels, lowering his center of gravity so they were at a physical impasse despite Derek's superhuman strength. If he’d been a normal man Stiles would have been able to flip him onto the dirt, but at it was that didn’t seem to be a possibility.

"I'm not finished negotiating," Stiles ground out haltingly as he strained to keep from being hauled back away from the answers and his father and resolution.

“You can’t go in there alone,” Derek said, voice strained and at least Stiles wasn’t completely weak, though he knew it was only a matter of seconds before the werewolf got a better grip and was able to physically drag him away.

“Then come with me,” Stiles said, “come help me save my dad’s life, Derek. Trust me in there and I’ll trust you.”

Derek grunted, but instead of continuing to haul him backward, his arms loosened and they surged forward together into the shadows.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just spent the long weekend chilling with the family in a cabin in the woods (dun dun duuuuun). Mom taught my one year old niece how to howl, three year old nephew chucked a pool ball and shattered a glass at a restaurant and the entire time the two of them were awake it was like a solid wall of noise...cousin and I had a hard time with that...but it was delightful despite the chaos and blah blah here's the new chapter ^_^
> 
> (my first car was manual and then my dad had a sports car for a hot second and DAMN that thing hugged those mountain curves like nobody's business)


	39. Chapter 39

The distillery wasn’t nearly as dark as Stiles had anticipated, which was a relief because he didn’t have the werewolf eyesight superpower thing going for him, though he did have the visual memory of the place to help him out, which made it easy to spot his dad pretty much immediately. He was slumped forward where he was tied to a support beam near the center of the room. Kali had retreated to his side and looked kind pensive, which was the only reason Stiles didn’t rush to his dad’s side. Well, that and Derek’s presence at his side.

It was very dramatic.

Also, his dad was clearly unconscious.

Stiles _seethed_.

“We’ve heard your demands,” Derek said calmly at his side and if Stiles weren’t pulsing with rage he might have taken the time to be impressed by that, his apparent togetherness. but as it was he could feel the hairs on his arms stand up as his body seemed to charge itself for the electrical surge that he was going to unleash to kill them all and-

Derek set a warm hand on his forearm in what was quite possibly the stupidest move he’d ever made, and he’d both tapped Stiles’ phone and handcuffed him to a bed.

“My mate is concerned for his father’s well-being, though I can hear that his heart rate and breathing are steady and that he isn’t bleeding or injured in any apparent way,” Derek continued and that was actually some pretty helpful information, so that was good. It didn’t change the fact that Stiles was going to straight up murder some alpha assholes, but knowing that his dad was just passed out and not dead was a very slight relief.

Though Stiles wasn't certain if him being unconscious was from some kind of a drug or a traumatic brain injury or magic or what, so that was less comforting. But no blood was good. As were the vital signs. And with that knowledge he somehow managed to lower his rage to a deadly simmer.

Two figures emerged from opposite sides of the room and Stiles immediately recognized the twins. They seemed pensive, cagy and uncomfortable as they slowly approached where Kali was standing. They were baby-faced and shirtless, bodies toned either through virtue of being alphas or rigorous exercise or both, Stiles wasn’t sure.

Derek’s body was still nicer, though he wasn’t going to admit that out loud.

And it really wasn’t the time to think about that, but whatever, it was just something Stiles noticed.

He cleared his throat. “So you three ready to get your asses kicked again? I took out Gerard and Deucalion, I don’t think it would be all that hard to end you all.”

Which wasn’t the right thing to say, apparently because Kali took a menacing step back toward the sheriff and Stiles could feel his heart clench. He also belatedly realized that the support beam he was tied to was made of metal, which was a terrible thing because electricity and metal were pretty good friends and yeah, there wasn’t any way he could make that work.

Earth, though-

“We’re here to listen to what you have to say,” Derek said quietly, his voice even and even through their touch-bond thing Stiles could feel his certainty and calm.

It was kind of weird, really, but a good weird, and helped keep him from freaking out about the whole hostage stalemate they had going on. And really, Derek was being amazingly mature about the whole situation, which made Stiles remember that he was, in fact, a police officer and while he might not have any specific hostage negotiation training, he was still able to keep calm in tense situations.

So even though Stiles wanted nothing more than to fill the tense silence with his ranting babble he bit back the angry words roiling inside of him and let himself relax against Derek’s grip on his arm.

Their trust had to be mutual or they could never work together effectively.

Kali was the one who spoke. She had joined Deucalion’s little super-pack before the other two and was clearly supposed to be some kind of an authority since the other big-bads were dead. Stiles hadn’t ever gotten a clear answer about Ennis, but he figured the guy was dead, especially since Chris Argent had helped clean up the scene. He didn’t seem like someone who was okay with loose ends. Particularly when those loose ends were alpha flavored.

“We didn’t know that Deucalion even had an emissary before the crone we helped him take, let alone that she tried to do that,” she said quietly, indicating Stiles’ chest, but not looking at it. The twins averted their gazes as well and that was weird.

“Why do _you_ think he wanted me?” Stiles asked. He’d assumed it was for the same kind of nefarious purpose, the fucked up immortality thing, but that had been Cassandra’s plot, and he didn’t know how that would have benefitted the alpha pack unless Deucalion had been planning to kill her after she’d killed Stiles to get a mega dose of power or something.

One of the twins shifted uneasily. “He said having a spark join us would make us unstoppable,” he said quietly. His voice was much softer than Stiles had expected and he was suddenly struck by how young the two of them were, certainly no older than him, probably not even that.

“Everyone’s stoppable given the right incentive, or barrier,” Stiles said, matching the alpha’s quiet tone.

But the other one was shaking his head. They were each standing on either side of his dad, Kali in front of him and yeah, there was no way for Stiles and Derek to fight the sheriff free, not without risking his safety.

So words it was.

“What do you mean?” Derek asked. His thumb was gently stroking across the hair on Stiles’ arm, but instead of getting pissed at him, Stiles found himself feeling more grounded. Like that they were a team and could actually win.

Because they had to.

“Deucalion was going to use the crone’s magic to bind you to us, to him. Once that happened you wouldn’t have been able to resist his orders,” the first twin said.

Which was a weird kind of diabolical.

“But I already accepted a position in the Hale pack,” Stiles said slowly and he could feel Derek’s weird cocktail of conflicting emotions again and suddenly more pieces seemed to click into place. “That’s why, isn’t it? He didn’t go for my heart because he thought it would be easier to just persuade me away from the Hales. I submitted once, why wouldn’t I do it again. Is that it?”

The twin on the right, the one who had been silent before, nodded. “Sparks don’t join packs, not without sacrificing their own free will.”

And _what the fuck_ was that?

“What about you?” he couldn’t help but snap, reactive because that was some shit he didn’t really want to hear, but deep down he had kind of expected it was the case. Talia’s manipulation the night he’d joined the pack made a lot more sense, as did his mother’s letter. Derek was seriously uncomfortable with what was happening.

Stiles didn’t blame him.

Well, he blamed him a little bit.

Twin one, Stiles could have asked their names, but was feeling too petty for that, glanced at his brother. They did a kind of telepathic communication thing and then he turned back to face him and Derek. “We were omegas in our pack,” he said, like he expected Stiles to be able to extrapolate a whole lot more data from that than he actually could.

“But pack omegas are revered,” Derek said slowly, a layer of confusion topped whatever other emotions he’d been feeling. “They’re the peacemakers, the alpha’s conscience. They’re the only ones besides the alpha’s mate who can demand to have their voice heard when their alpha is making a decision that will affect the entire pack. It’s a position of honor, why would that be a role you hated so much?” And apparently his super senses were telling him a lot more about the conversation than Stiles was getting from it, but he appreciated the pack dynamic cliffsnotes.

It also said something about Talia that she didn’t have that kind of a pack member, an omega. Maybe if she’d had one Stiles wouldn’t have been so poorly used. But whatever. That was how she’d handled it and they'd have to live with the consequences.

“Maybe in your pack,” twin two said with a huff of breath that did nothing to hide his hurt. “In ours we were just beaten and abused by _everyone_. We were the lowest ranking members and no one treated us anything but poorly.”

Which. Fuck.

It was all a cycle of abuse, apparently, and despite the fact that those assholes had _kidnapped his dad_ , that didn’t mean they hadn’t been victims for what sounded like their entire lives. It didn’t excuse their behavior, but it maybe helped explain it a bit.

“So what happened?” Stiles couldn’t help but prompt, his desire to know more battling with his pounding urge to force them away from where his dad was bound and helpless between them. Their own victim.

Something inside of Stiles clenched tight.

But at least if they were talking it gave everyone else time to get there and figure out a way to get them out of the mess they were in. Stiles was actually kind of surprised none of the others had barged into the distillery, but they were maybe more concerned with helping their alpha than in engaging in werewolf fisticuffs over the spark's dad.

Twin one shrugged, but Stiles could tell it was an uneasy gesture, a forced display of nonchalance. “Deucalion found us, told us how we would finally win against the other pack members. He taught us how to shift together. We could never become wolves, not with the way we were born, but in our beta form we could take on pretty much anyone else and win, and after we moved our way up the ranks, killing the others who had hurt us, it just kept getting easier until we finally took out our alpha and inherited his power.”

“Our dad wasn’t a very good alpha,” twin two said and Stiles felt his entire body grow cold because _holy fucking god_ they’d been abused by _family_? He probably should have put that one together earlier, but shit, they hadn’t just been hurt other pack members, but by their own _father_? Who had been their alpha?

“But you don’t have a pack anymore,” Derek said and that seemed irrelevant until the twins and Kali all flinched and Stiles didn’t know what that meant. Something terrible, obviously.

“You’re all omegas,” Derek continued, “packless, even though your eyes are red. You know what happens to wolves without a pack.”

No, Stiles didn’t know, though he could guess.

“They go feral and have to be put down like rabid dogs,” Peter’s creepy voice said from the shadows along the lefthand wall and they all tensed, the twins stepping closer to Stiles’ dad and he made to move forward, but Derek’s hand kept him from going too far. He was radiating confidence, though, so Stiles wasn’t immediately inclined to blow his hand off of his body with a well-placed electrical charge.

“We can’t be omegas, not again,” the second twin said, sounding desperate and broken. It was a combination Stiles knew to be highly dangerous, especially since the two had built-in weapons even when they weren’t doing their fucked up transformer routine.

And apparently being _that_ kind of omega was a bad thing? But so could the other kind if they were part of a shitty pack? Stiles was a little confused about that. He kind of figured it was like having two Jessicas in the same class. Even though they were two completely different people they were still called the same thing, but in this case there wasn’t a handy different last name or face to differentiate the two.

“There are two types of omegas,” Peter said, clearly recognizing Stiles’ confusion and Stiles wasn’t sure if he was grateful for that or pissed off. Actually, it was easier to be pissed at Peter, so he went with that. “They can either be a vital part of a pack, or on their own.”

“Omegas on their own don’t last long until they begin to lose touch with their humanity,” Derek added. “That’s when hunters inevitably kill them, though their code prevents them from acting until the wolf proves themself a danger to humans.”

“Which really only takes a matter of days, especially for packless alphas,” Peter said, stepping out of the shadows with a flash of blue eyes.

Stiles did not like where that was going.

“That won’t be a problem, though,” Talia’s voice said from the doorway behind Stiles and he had to repress the urge to shiver at the coldness of her tone. That also meant Deaton had finally arrived and let her out of the ill-thought-out mountain ash circle. Him or Chris Argent. Regardless, Stiles was pretty sure he was screwed for having done that to the alpha, but wait.

“What?” he asked, glancing back at her. Derek was conflicted again and not much of a help. It kind of seemed like he wasn’t sure whether he wanted to stand by Stiles, between him and the alphas, or between him and his mother. It was all terribly confusing. For both of them, really

“If you choose to submit to me properly, you would be betas, not omegas,” Talia said to the trio and Stiles nearly choked on his outrage, but Derek squeezed his arm and somehow he managed not to scream obscenities at her because _seriously_? Those assholes had helped kidnap both his best friend and his dad. Scott was a _werewolf_ in part because of them. And she was offering them a place in her _pack_?

Fuck. That.

“Who’s your omega now?” one of the twins asked, and Stiles was too pissed to try to figure out which one because he was busy glaring back at Talia, who was avoiding eye contact, but Rollin wasn’t. He stood at his mate’s side looking pensive and a touch apologetic, but it could have been the lighting.

Talia shook her head. “We don’t have one at this time. It was our adopted son Boyd, but he became a beta when he followed our other children to Chicago. I don’t anticipate him taking on that role now that he’s returned to us, though,” she said, not sounding the least bit put out by that.

The other twin spared a glance at his brother. “So you’re a pack without an omega? That’s almost as dangerous as us being alphas without a pack,” he challenged, but there was more fear than anything else in his voice.

Derek was wary, too.

“It can be,” Peter allowed, still lurking near the shadows like a creeper. Stiles thought about Rollin’s earlier threat to rip out the guy’s tongue and it made him feel marginally better that even Peter’s brother-in-law wasn’t a big fan of his silver-tongued bullshit.

Stiles was also not seeing a solution to their stalemate, not unless Chris could use arrows or rifle shots or something to take out all three alphas before they killed their own bargaining chip. He especially didn’t like the way they moved closer to his dad like they’d heard this thoughts and fuck it, he’d had enough.

“It sounds like you guys need an omega, right?” he said, hating himself more with every word that came out of his own mouth, but it was necessary. It was the only way he could be sure his dad wouldn’t be harmed. Because packs, well, good packs, didn’t harm other pack members. “It’s a pretty important role, obviously.”

Even Peter stopped creeping when Stiles paused, waiting for confirmation, for them to be drawn into his argument. Stiles turned back to the three alphas in front of them and they each gave a reluctant nod. Beside him Derek was stoic and calm, confident despite the fact that he had no idea where Stiles was going with that. Well, he probably didn’t have any idea. Stiles wasn’t even sure where he was going with that until he suddenly remembered the definition of a pack’s omega.

“The omega of a pack is pretty much their moral compass, aren’t they?”

More reluctant nodding and the sound of Talia and Rollin getting closer. Stiles took a step nearer to Derek and their sides brushed against each other.

“Scott should be your omega,” he said tightly, like his throat was trying to close itself around the words and he felt suddenly trapped because he knew what that meant. If Scott joined the Hale pack there wasn’t any way Stiles could leave it. He’d be stuck there for the rest of his life being used by Talia and the rest, but he _had_ to save his dad and there wasn’t any way Talia was going to let the alphas just walk out of there, not after what they’d done. They had to either submit or die. Stiles felt like he was in the exact same position, really. Besides, if Scott didn’t have a pack he’d be considered the other kind of omega, which wasn’t going to happen on Stiles’ watch. So his proposal, it was like killing a flock of birds with one terrible stone. A millstone, if the choking feeling was anything to go by. “He’s a great one,” Stiles finished quietly.

Derek was concerned, probably having felt or smelled the emotional turmoil Stiles had going on, but there was no helping it. That solution was the best. Scott would have a pack, Talia would have an omega, and the twins would hopefully not murder his dad because they’d want to make nice with their new alpha, which included not harming the family of pack members. Stiles’ stomach clenched.

But then there was Kali, who was getting increasingly twitchy as she glanced around, tracking Peter’s movement and the alpha pair and where Derek and Stiles were standing stiffly in front of her. She growled as she lowered her center of gravity and moved to step back toward the sheriff, but before Stiles could say or do anything Peter started to move forward when both of the twins popped out their claws and shoved them into her chest.

Just.

Impaled here right there in front of them, lifting her twitching body until her wet choking ceased and then they dropped her, their eyes flashing red for a second before they shook their heads and looked at where Talia had come to a stop on Stiles’ other side. Peter backed into the shadows again and Stiles realized he’d been trying to make his move, wanting to kill an alpha to become one. At least he was unsubtle enough that even Talia had to have caught onto his motives.

“She wasn’t going to submit,” one twin said, like that was an acceptable excuse for murder in cold blood.

“She was going to kill the sheriff so the spark would kill us all,” the other said and yeah, that was actually a perfectly acceptable excuse. It was a weird twist on the whole suicide by cop thing people did sometimes. And really? Stiles was pretty sure that’s exactly what would have happened had she succeeded in killing his dad.

But none of that did anything about the body sprawled on the ground between them. Kali’s body, sluggishly leaking blood into the grime on the floor. More blood added to the stain already there.

It _was_ a bad place.

“Let me see my dad,” Stiles said, voice tight and breath too quick and he was just overwhelmed by what was going on because the refrain of _can’t get out, can’t get out_ was stuck in his head on a loop and he wanted nothing more than to gather his dad’s limp body in his arms and get the fuck out of there.

Away from Talia and Peter’s manipulation, away from the twins and their weird morphing powers and, yeah, he didn’t even hesitate when the two stepped to one side. He barely even noticed that Derek stayed by him, keeping himself between Stiles and the twins and that he didn’t even have to be asked to cut the ropes when they got to his dad, claws careful around the sheriff’s delicate skin.

He was unconscious, but breathing Stiles immediately noticed and his eyes filled with tears because even though he’d believed Derek when he’d told Stiles that, it was still another thing entirely to have physical proof of the claim. Stiles helped him move the sheriff’s arms around to the front of his body to rest on his lap and didn’t miss the telltale black streaks of relieved pain that pulsed up Derek’s arms and had they been alone Stiles would have probably kissed him he was so touched, but as it was he simply gave the other man a tight smile and nod. Derek returned it, then gently touched the sheriff’s slack face like he was checking for injuries.

“Kali used some kind of a chemical,” one of the twins told Talia. Probably because she was the alpha and was therefore supposedly in charge of the operations. Both twins seemed more relaxed than they had been, like they’d made a decision and were happy with it.

Stiles really didn’t give a fuck.

“Any other injuries?” he asked Derek quietly, but he shook his head and bent to lift his dad without being asked.

If Stiles’ emotions hadn’t been in an odd swooping freefall of misery and relief he might have been able to actually thank Derek, but he just led the way further into the building where there was another exit that didn’t take them past Talia or the twins, wouldn’t have to look at them or speak to them or do anything other than shuffle forward like the lame kind of zombie.

So of course Peter stepped forward to block their way. Behind him Derek growled, but Stiles was so tired of the charade that he just rocked to a halt and watched Peter with tired eyes and a sick kind of heaviness in his heart.

“You’re not going to hurt us,” Stiles said. Because he didn’t really think anyone _could_ hurt him anymore. He was numb from it, from the betrayals and plots and the apparent bleakness of his future as Talia’s pet spark. The only bright points were Derek’s apparent newfound steadfastness and the fact that both his friend and father were alive, even though they’d both been hurt because of him.

“You think you’ve won, don’t you?” Peter asked and there was a feverish look in his eyes that made Stiles’ skin tingle with memories of Kate, but he just shrugged weakly in response.

“Not even a little bit,” he admitted. It was true, he actually felt like he’d lost. His freedom and his best friend and probably his dignity along the way there, though it wasn’t as if he’d had much of that to begin with so whatever.

Derek nudged him in the back with one arm, the contact of bare skin made Stiles want to sigh because yeah, he’d lost some things and gained others, but he was too emotionally drained to deal with it all. He just wanted to curl up in his bed and sleep for a few days, but first he had to take care of his dad.

“Neither of us won, Peter,” Stiles said and Peter jerked back like he’d been slapped.

“If you don’t want Mother to kill you for conspiring against her, you may want to leave now, while she’s distracted,” Derek added and Peter’s eyes flashed blue as he gaped at his nephew, like he’d never imagined Derek could have possibly been brave enough to say something like that to him before.

“Derek’s right,” Boyd said as he emerged from the shadows, Isaac and Erica flanking him. “You’re no longer welcome in our pack, not after what you’ve done to Stiles and what you tried to do to our alpha.”

Peter’s glare was redirected to Stiles and he immediately knew it was going to be another situation like Kali, so without stopping to think about it he stepped forward to meet Peter’s growled lunge, his hands coming up to cradle either side of Peter’s partially shifted face and he closed his eyes, thinking calmly about how he’d sacrifice everything for his family and with that thought something warm bloomed in his chest. Warm and loud, like a howl, but that could have been the weird acoustics in the metal building and his palms started to heat and blister as vibrant colors danced behind his closed eyes until he felt the weight of Peter carry him down onto the hard ground.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my brother, who is married with two kids, just bought himself a tiny hamster creature...his kids aren't even old enough to play with it...he just...bought a hamster...idk what to do with that knowledge, but he did name it Magnus, so that's kind of cool...
> 
> Does this cliffhanger make me a shitty person? Probably.   
> Did that stop me from doing it? Not even a little bit.  
> Shhh kittens, don't worry so much!


	40. Chapter 40

Stiles slowly began to realize that the warmth was actually kind of wet and he had a moment of stunned stillness before the physical memory of having been wounded before, the night Peter had challenged him, returned along with an immediate flood of pain that disappeared as soon as it had started because a crushing weight was being lifted from off of him and hands were holding onto his bare back and arms. It wasn’t just Derek, though, it was Boyd, Isaac, and Erica, and after a moment Talia and Rollin joined them as well. How he knew it didn’t seem to matter, and he thought maybe even the twins had gotten in on the touching the half-naked human action, but he couldn't tell for sure.

Stiles _was_ pretty sure someone was talking, or maybe even yelling, but he couldn’t quite hear what they were saying over the static rush of blood and the tinny ringing in his ears. That was kind of disconcerting, actually, adding to it that he couldn’t seem to speak, either and Stiles actually began to worry because it was pretty evident that things weren’t right.

Derek’s calm began to shatter, then, his odd loyalty and affection quivering with a desperate kind of fear that set Stiles’ teeth on edge and it was then that he realized even though his eyes were open he couldn’t seem to see anything. Not Derek’s face or wherever it was they were, or the other pack members who were probably doing the whole pain mojo thing on him. He also couldn’t hear beyond the rasping in and out of his own shallow breathing, the odd stuttering of his heart and oh, that probably wasn't a good thing.

Yeah, he was probably dying.

His mind struggled to reconstruct what had happened and he came up with _distillery_ and _Peter_ and _claws_ , remembering the snarling curl of the werewolf’s lips and the rage in his eyes as he’d lunged, going for a killing blow to Stiles’ lower chest like Ethan and Aiden had with Kali and _huh_. Stiles wasn't sure how he knew the twins names, but there they were.

And there he was, being oddly calm about the whole thing.

So Peter had stabbed him through the chest and Stiles was dying because of it. That was a bit of a revelation, but he figured he didn’t exactly have to share his epiphany with everyone else since they seemed to get it. And thankfully, the pack was still keeping him from feeling the pain of his wounds, so he supposed it wasn’t the worst way to go. Except that he could _feel_ Derek’s heart breaking, could sense his desperate hope and the potency of his unfathomable love.

Stiles closed his useless eyes as his body grew numb, senses dulling until he could barely make out anything but the slowing tempo of his heart. It was easy to just give up, to give into the weird non-pain of his bleeding wounds, to let it all wash over him-

Until he heard a familiar whisper of wind and the distant rumble of thunder, just at the edge of his senses, barely penetrating the white noise of dying.

_Submission is not in our nature_ , his mother’s voice reminded him in her curt accent and like he’d been struck by lightning again Stiles felt his adrenaline surge as he felt himself shudder, fighting against the suffocating tide of death. Because his mother was right, he’d done too much, survived too much, to simply submit. It was hard to do, almost impossibly, to dredge up enough energy to force his way back. He railed against the creeping darkness, floundering helplessly, feeling himself slipping back and forth in the void until he was somehow able to latch onto Derek’s steady presence and he finally forced himself to draw air into his lungs.

It burned, but it was a good kind of ache.

Casting that time was more like his little light show on the roof than any other instance he could think of. It was easy, like slipping into one of the mirrored poses in their couples class, like he was just following his muscle memory instead of reinventing how to do magic. He focused on Derek, on his anchor, remembered how _powerful_ he was, how effortlessly he’d always supported Stiles during their random yoga escapades. He thought about the smooth skin beneath his hands and his partner’s steady pulse as he struggled to even out his own thready heartbeat, drawing in the things he was missing, taking back what was his.

His hearing gradually returned in fits and starts of senseless noise. At first it was like a badly tuned radio, the sound going in and out until he was able to fixate on Derek’s gasping half-breaths, like he was trying to keep from crying and was doing a bad job at it.

Stiles needed more, though.

His sense of touch came next and he could feel Derek's warm hands like a brand against the back of his neck, cradling his head. They never wavered in their firm yet careful grip and even though there were others holding onto him, none of the rest mattered.

Only Derek mattered.

Which was cliched and corny, but Stiles drew strength from that, was finally able to _feel_ how his body was incomplete, chest shredded gruesomely by Peter’s clawed hands. But even as he recognized the injuries for what they were supposed to be, mortal wounds, he knew they were already, impossibly, starting to heal.

Next was scent, Derek’s unique damp earth and sunshine, sweat and sorrow. It was probably weird that Stiles could _smell_ the sorrow, but whatever, his senses were just coming back online and he wasn’t about to question them when he was so grateful that they existed at all.

Stiles desperately wanted to taste, to add that dimension to his sense of smell, but it would have to wait for later, he promised himself. That was for a time when he could set Derek down and explain to him all the things that Stiles hadn’t been able to articulate, his hopes and fears, his reservations about being a part of the Hale pack and his own evolving feelings for Derek. Stiles had a lot of things to tell him, but they’d have to wait until he had better use of his tongue, until he could actually speak without the wet rasping of his own breath in his ears.

He was glad of the shadowed interior of the distillery when his eyesight came back, but even then it was almost blinding after the dark nothing of almost-death. Derek was front and center, or maybe he wasn't and Stiles just couldn't focus on anyone else. Regardless, he looked wrecked, like his entire life had flashed before his eyes and maybe it had, maybe Stiles meant that much to him.

_Mates_ , his mother's voice whispered.

Stiles blinked back his tears and tried his best to smile, but the hurt noise his action drew from Derek made his heart give a stuttering lurch and suddenly he knew he had to speak, had to try to sooth the flood of panicked fear and sorrow Derek was still exuding because that _wasn’t okay_.

“Did I fry him?” Stiles asked haltingly because apparently he was still an asshole regardless of his state of wellbeing. That was kind of comforting, actually, knowing that despite everything his snark was still intact.

Derek choked back a startled laugh and had to take a moment to collect himself, burying his face gently against Stiles’ neck, his stubble almost too much to handle on the suddenly hyper-sensitive skin there, but Stiles was just so thankful that he _could_ feel that he didn’t say anything about it.

“You set him on fire,” Rollin said quietly from his left, his face slowly swimming into focus and Stiles wondered if he’d maybe given himself some retinal damage from whatever it was he’d done to Peter. Or perhaps his vision was just slow to catch up to the fact that he wasn’t, in fact, dead.

Either or.

“That’s not an answer,” Stiles sassed. He got it though, sort of. They were probably still afraid he was going to slip back into unconsciousness, or whatever state he’d been in, that he wasn’t strong enough to handle whatever it was that had happened, but what they didn’t seem to grasp, what was actually kind of shocking to Stiles as well, was that he was drawing energy from _them_ as well as from Derek, that he was using the pack bond to heal himself. Perhaps not as quickly as a werewolf, but certainly faster than he ever could have as just a normal human.

Not that he’d ever been particularly normal, the whole spark thing aside.

It was Erica who spoke, blond hair swirling in front of him as she came into view. “You fried his ass pretty good, Stiles, but he still might pull through.” She sounded disgruntled about that and if Stiles had been certain his lungs could handle it he would have laughed, but as it was he just smiled and twitched his chin enough to graze against Derek’s impossibly soft hair.

“Stop mourning me, I’m not dead,” he said because Derek’s sorrow had gained a hefty dose of guilt and self-loathing that Stiles was _not_ okay with. It made his stomach clench and really, his organs had had enough re-arranging for one day. Besides, he really wanted to see Derek smile.

He wasn’t disappointed.

Well, he was disappointed that he couldn’t thread his fingers through the dark tousled hair and kiss his way between Derek’s parted lips, but that was another thing he knew he’d have to put on the backburner until he could actually control his limbs. At least his chest was nearly healed, though. The warm wetness of blood was gone, replaced by a vague kind of tingling where he imagined Peter’s claws had penetrated his skin, but then again there was the werewolf pain mojo stuff still going on, so he couldn’t really be sure of any of that, really.

“Mother was going to bite you, but she said it was too late, that you were too far gone for it to have worked,” Derek said with quiet reverence, his eyes not leaving Stiles’ face, like he was cataloging it for future reference, or like he hadn’t ever thought he’d see it again and was drinking in the details.

Stiles felt himself frown, which was more muscle control than he’d thought he had, so things were progressing pretty well. “ _The bite?_ But if she did that I wouldn’t be a spark anymore, we talked about it,” he said faintly. His mind hadn’t fully come back online, but he remembered that much of his conversation with Talia, his assumption that the two types of magic wouldn’t agree and that he’d likely lose his special abilities if he became a werewolf. That was assuming the bite would work in the first place and not kill him outright.

“We care more about your survival than your gift,” Talia said, but Stiles couldn’t see her because Derek was capturing all of his visual attention. It was a really good view.

But wait.

Talia’s confession didn’t fit in with what he’d seen thus far and he was naturally wary enough to be distrustful of her apparent change of heart about him and how he could contribute to the pack. From what she’d said and done in the past Stiles had gathered that he was more of a handy acquisition, a shiny toy she’d wanted to keep out of other people’s hands than something she truly appreciated having around. He was like a mint condition toy, to be collected but not really used. Huh. That was kind of a weird metaphor. Whatever.

She seemed to get that, though as did Derek because finally turned his intense soul-searching gaze toward where Stiles assumed Talia was and just stared until she spoke again.

It was a pretty effective tactic, really.

“I understand that you may doubt my motives, Stiles,” she said and he could feel Derek’s grip tighten just enough to let him know he shared the same kind of reservations. He could actually feel that from where they were touching and it soothed something in him, that Derek didn’t just blindly follow his mother’s lead. It was a start. “But I’ve seen the way you and my son behave toward each other, how deep your bond is and I understand that nothing can come between the two of you, just like nothing could ever disrupt the connection Rollin and I have with each other,” and well, yeah, they were mates.

It was still interesting to hear it from someone else, though. It was validating to know that the bond was solid from the outside as well as between the two of them. But still.

“I don’t trust you,” Stiles said and Derek’s steadfastness even at that confession kind of floored him. He wasn’t sure if it was a mates thing or a Derek thing, the unwavering loyalty even when potentially faced with his alpha’s wrath.

“I don’t expect you to, not after what what I’ve done,” Talia admitted and huh, that wasn’t the reaction he’d been expecting at all.

Rollin swam into view, just on the edge of his periphery. Stiles’ vision was still dominated by the side of Derek’s face, but he knew the other man was there, patient and calm. “We’ve behaved abominably toward you, Stiles, and we’re going to do everything we can to make it up to you, starting with following your instructions on what to do with Peter. He’s injured quite severely, burned by your magic, but he could heal given time and close care. Would you like to grant him that time, or would you like for us to end his life now for the crimes he’s committed?”

Stiles was really not prepared to shoulder that kind of responsibility and felt Derek slowly extract him from everyone else’s touch until Stiles was being cradled in his arms alone, the smooth skin of Derek’s shoulder against his cheek and he closed his eyes to consider. It was easier to think like that, with the other man’s scent thick on his tongue and his breath caressing Stiles’ face, his steady heartbeat audible beneath his ear.

“We’ll take the sheriff outside and make sure he’s okay,” Boyd said quietly and Stiles could hear their gentle footfalls as the pack moved away, taking his dad and Peter and Kali’s body with them. Stiles wasn’t sure how he knew about the other two, but he did.

“I was worried about you,” Derek whispered, his breathed words ghosting across Stiles’ cheeks.

No longer having to pretend to be on top of things, Stiles settled more firmly against Derek, nuzzling his chest and only belatedly realizing that neither of them were wearing shirts. He couldn’t recall when Derek had lost his, but whatever, it was nice even if he was too blissed-out to open his eyes and look.

“I know, I could feel it,” he said, just letting himself take stock of his body again. He didn’t even feel all that weak, which was kind of weird since he’d been completely wiped out the other times he’d done his magic tricks and it seemed like near-resurrection was probably more of an energy drain than simply harnessing electricity or making a Peter-statue. He was comfortable, though, and was enjoying relaxing against Derek’s firm warmth.

Actually, Stiles was a bit chilled, though that could have just been because it was winter and he didn’t have a shirt on. He finally opened his eyes again, and, avoiding Derek’s gaze, glanced down at his body with a frown. The scars on his chest looked the same as always, along with the smattering of hair that grew on the unblemished patches of his skin. Further down he could see the slight definition of his abs that had gradually shown up after he’d truly committed to the whole running thing, and then the whole yoga thing. But where he’d been stabbed it was just unbroken skin, smooth and pale just like the rest.

“Do you want your uncle to live?” Stiles asked, not daring to look up.

Derek was conflicted, but he finally leaned down and kissed the side of Stiles’ head.

“I trust you to make the decision you feel is the best,” he said diplomatically and Stiles snorted, which didn’t even hurt his newly healed body. That was a plus.

“That’s not what I asked, but I think I get it.” he said. He did. Derek was torn between wanting his uncle to pay for the crimes he’d plotted to commit, had succeeded in committing, and wanting him to live because Peter was his uncle, his own flesh and blood.

It was Derek’s cousins that sealed Stiles’ decision, though. He knew what it was like to grow up without one of his parents and even though Peter had pulled an Agent McCall and practically abandoned his wife and kids, Stiles couldn’t take him away from them completely.

“I’m not going to kill him,” Stiles said quietly. That hadn’t even been his goal at the time, he didn’t think, he’d been more concerned about meeting his attacker, not in the outcome of the fight. Which, really, had almost gotten himself killed so he made a mental note to take a more aggressive stance the next time that kind of situation came up, though he sincerely hoped it never did.

Derek leaned down to nuzzle his raspy scruff against Stiles’ cheek. “They’re taking him to the hospital, along with your dad. He’s fine,” Derek was hasty to add, “he’s fine, but still unconscious. Melissa will take good care of him.”

But thinking of Douchey McCall and Melissa made him think of Scott, which made his heart lurch uncomfortably and yeah, he still wasn’t at his best. “I wanna see Scott,” he said, trying to wriggle his way to his feet, which even as he tried he knew was a dumb idea, but it was Scott and he couldn’t just lay there waiting to heal. He had to go to his friend who was undergoing some pretty extreme body changes of his own.

“He’s under Laura Hale’s watch,” Chris Argent’s voice said and the man himself stepped from the shadows and seriously? Stiles was surrounded by drama queens who loved making entrances. It was a thing, though he prided himself on not flinching, probably because he’d read Derek’s alertness and had somehow known they weren’t alone in the distillery.

Whatever, it didn’t matter, he was still going to see Scott.

“Yeah, and Allison’s there, too. We both know she’s his anchor, so that’s awesome of you to let her to go to him,” he said, somehow managing to move his head, well, flop his head, so he could better see the other man.

Chris looked vaguely uncomfortable, but finally shrugged. “There wasn’t any way of stopping her besides breaking out the handcuffs and from what I hear that’s not a very effective means of restraining headstrong youth.” He had a wry kind of smile on his face and Stiles couldn’t help his snort of laughter that only twinged his diaphragm a little bit.

“Yeah, well, some of us were raised by pretty badass individuals, what can I say?”

“You could let me take care of Peter for you. Consider it a payment on the debt my family owes you.”

Both Derek and Stiles were a bit surprised by that, but Stiles recovered first, shaking his head as much as he was able. His body seemed to have leveled out in it’s healing, fixing all the vital bits and leaving everything else at half-speed. Not that he minded, he was in one piece, so that was pretty much all he could have asked for. “I’m going to let Peter live, even though every comic book I’ve ever read tells me that’s a bad idea, but you never know how someone will turn out when they’ve been shown mercy.”

“If he steps out of line again the code demands I put him down,” Chris reminded them and Stiles felt, rather than heard, Derek’s growl at the threat.

“You’re not going to go crazy on Scott are you?” Stiles asked a bit hesitantly. He couldn’t imagine Scott hurting anyone, but then again the whole werewolf thing added an entirely new dimension to his friend’s life that none of them had even considered before.

But Chris was shaking his head ruefully. “If I tried I’m certain my daughter would have my head for it. He’s safe as long as he’s able to control himself, which neither of us seem overly concerned about.”

Stiles was actually more concerned about him not being a part of any pack, of him being the bad kind of omega, but he just nodded and Chris gave him one last look before he melted back into the shadows. Or it could have been Stiles’ still funky eyesight, but whatever, Chris was gone and he was left sprawled across Derek’s lap, body limp and mind churning.

“Relax, Stiles,” Derek whispered and he slowly lowered his face down, giving Stiles time to protest or say their safe word, but he didn’t. Instead he tilted his chin just so and their lips met with a soft spark of electricity that made the werewolf grin for an instant before he pressed closer and with more intent.

It certainly wasn’t the worst thing he’d done all day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stiles lives! (because of course he does, you can't honestly think I'd kill STILES, right?!)  
> *nuzzles you*  
> No fear, kittens, the rest is just fun ^_^  
> Any special requests? I've got some ideas for sweet domestic-ish scenes, but I'm always open to suggestions


	41. Chapter 41

The cool thing was, the longer they kissed, the more in control of his body Stiles felt, not that it prevented Derek from bridal-styling him to the car when his shivers of cold and want started to join the mix, but whatever, he wasn’t opposed to being carried if it was for a good reason. Potential sexytimes were _always_ a good reason.

And yeah, they still had a lot of shit to talk about, revisiting the whole consent thing and the manhandling and handcuff scenario, but Stiles was _alive_. He’d very nearly not been and the fact that he was kind of rearranged his priorities a bit. So he let Derek carry him to the car and strap him in, let him hover and coddle a bit until Stiles gave him a look and he sheepishly retreated to the driver’s seat and set off carefully for the Hale house.

Stiles knew things were going to be different with the pack, his pack, not only because there were three new members in the mix, but because Talia had finally seemed to reach the conclusion that Stiles wasn’t merely that mint-condition toy on the shelf, but an actual human being who had meaningful things to contribute to the conversation. If she kept it up, if she listened to Rollin and Scott, who would be a perfect omega with his relentless moral compass, then Stiles might even find it in himself to eventually forgive her for how he’d treated him.

Not yet, but it was a theoretical thing.

They took the main road and were at the Hale house in no time, or Stiles could have still been feeling the wonky effects of the whole not-dying thing, which made time seem especially relative. Whichever.

Derek didn’t seem completely satisfied by his state of wellbeing, though because he insisted on helping Stiles out of the car and probably would have carried him like a damsel again, but Stiles negotiated for a piggyback ride, instead, and laughed against the back of Derek’s neck at the memory of having been in a very similar position not long before. Though that time Stiles had been pretty upset about that whole phone tapping and Argent thing, but whatever, he was _alive_.

The front door was unlocked and Laura met them in the entryway, looking a bit frazzled, but not altogether worse-for-wear. But she took one look and sniff at them and made a face.

“Why do you smell like barbequed dog hair?” she asked, scrubbing the back of her hand over her nose and Derek shifted uncomfortably and yeah, she’d clearly not been informed about the showdown, so that was awkward.

“Uh, I’m alive?” Stiles tried, not really knowing what he was supposed to say and her eyebrows rose, so that probably wasn’t the best answer he could have come up with.

“And we were worried about that?” she asked, actually kind of _sounding_ worried, which was one of the reasons he liked her so much. Sure she could be terrifying at times, but she was a pretty compassionate person despite her plotting and general meddling.

Derek adjusted him and nodded toward the stairs so his sister would follow them. She walked beside Derek as they made their way up. And after a moment of contemplation Derek finally spoke. “Kali was killed by the twins, who have joined the pack, the sheriff kidnapped by them and is still unconscious but okay, and Peter almost killed Stiles,” he growled that last bit before resigning himself in, “but Stiles defended himself with magic and now Peter’s in a coma and Stiles used the pack bond to heal where the claws had punctured his lungs.” And yeah, that wasn’t exactly how Stiles would have told the story, he would have probably used a lot of hand gestures and sound effects, but it got the point across pretty succinctly. Also, ouch, lung puncturing was pretty painful, at least from the single snatch of pain he’d felt before the pack had descended on him.

Laura cocked an eyebrow at them both. “Peter tried to gain alpha power through combat last night, then attempted to murder Stiles, and you guys let him live?”

“It was Stiles choice,” Derek said simply and she frowned thoughtfully before shaking her head.

“Okay, whatever, Allison and Scott are in one of the cells _bonding_ ,” she said, emphasizing the last word and giving it a kind of significance Stiles wasn’t sure he wanted clarification about. “I heard Stiles’ theory and he was right, she’s his anchor. I’ve never actually heard of someone being grounded so quickly after getting the bite, but there you have it, he’s got almost perfect control, even when I went down there to check on them and interrupted their hanky panky.”

Stiles scrunched his nose. “ _Hanky panky?_ Really Laura?”

She rolled her eyes, stopping in the doorway while Derek lowered Stiles gently onto the bed. “Like you two aren’t about to have some hot, life-affirming sex. Which, seriously, have fun. I'll call and check on the sheriff while you two enjoy yourselves.”

Derek snorted, but moved toward her with a scowl. “Don’t interrupt us,” he warned and closed the door against her delighted laugh.

“I’m a bit disturbed that your sister called our potential sexytimes _hot_ ,” Stiles admitted, folding his arms behind his head and reveling in the fact that he could do that and that his lungs seemed to be functioning properly. It was pretty awesome. "I mean, don't get me wrong, of course any sex we have is going to be hot, but dude, you're her _brother_."

Derek rolled his eyes and moved to the open door of the bathroom and after a second Stiles could hear the water in the sink running.

"Hey, can we take a bath?" Stiles called out, kind of unsure about what was going on in Derek's head and really wanting the level of physical contact that would make it easier for him to figure it out. Plus, he was pretty grimy from all of the almost-dying.

Derek poked his head out from around the doorframe. "I was just going to wipe you down and let you sleep for a while," he said, holding up a damp washcloth and the last time he'd gotten one of those out it had been in the aftermath of some _very_ hot sex, but Stiles was fairly certain his libido wasn't quite primed for action, the more important body functions like basic temperature regulations still working on coming back online.

"Bath?" Stiles asked again. Though, really, he was at Derek's mercy, so he's end up doing whatever the other guy decided, but he was a firm believer that his vote counted, and had never been shy about sharing his opinion when he had one, which was almost always.

And that was how he found himself stripped and sitting on the closed toilet lid, wrapped up in a fluffy towel that Derek didn't seem the least bit concerned about getting dirty as the water ran in the tub. It wasn't as fancy as the one in Wisconsin, but it looked bigger than a normal one.

"Sometimes we take baths on our wolf forms," Derek explained sheepishly, like that wasn't the cutest mental image ever.

"Oh my god, a wet Ginger Bear? Dude, come on, you know you probably look precious like that," Stiles challenged, grinning and enjoying watching the play of hard muscles across Derek's back, his tattoo shifting with every movement.

Derek huffed out a laugh and shook his head. “I’m not a fan of getting my fur wet,” he admitted as he sat back on his heels, looking Stiles up and down like he was checking him for further damage.

Stiles grinned at him, unable to help himself. “That’s probably one of the more adorable things you’ve said.”

He rolled his eyes, but then seemed to sober as he watched Stiles’ fingers tremble slightly where he was gripping the towel. “I was terrified today,” Derek said quietly, “I thought I’d lost you again, and it almost broke me.”

Which was about as much raw honesty as Stiles had ever heard from him and he didn’t even need to be touching Derek to feel the palpable hurt he had been and was suffering. “Come here,” Stiles said softly, opening his arms and consequently the towel, but that didn’t matter because Derek crawled forward and moved himself between the v of Stiles’ legs, sliding his hands around his waist to touch his bare back, face pressed against his chest just over his heart, over the scars. “I can’t promise I’ll never do anything like that again, but I’ll do my best not to since it really sucked,” he murmured against the soft warmth of Derek’s hair.

He could feel the swirling conflict of emotions, the remembered sorrow and the hope, the devastation and the wonder. It was a lot to take in, but Stiles just held onto him until he was able to let it all go, until the only thing Derek felt was the familiar sense of deep affection and contentment. “I’m sorry my family has been so terrible to you,” Derek finally murmured, the rasp of his stubble against his chest sending a shiver down Stiles’ spine that the werewolf didn’t miss if the twitch of his cheek that spoke of a grin was anything to go by. The ass.

“Do you think things will get better?” Stiles asked, needing to keep focused on that train of thought and not on the valiant effort his dick was making to get involved with the proceedings. He knew himself well enough to get that in his current state he had to focus on one thing at a time, and despite his more carnal inclinations, that thing had to be communication first.

Derek made a contemplative noise as he kissed the silky scar tissue on Stiles’ chest. “I think that if Scott accepts the role of omega in my mother’s pack then things might change for the better,” he admitted quietly. It looked like he was about to say something else when he pulled away and shut off the water, dipping his fingers into it before nodding in satisfaction. “Come on, in you go,” he said, holding out his hands to Stiles, who just gave him an unimpressed look.

“You’re getting in there with me,” he informed Derek. Because really? That was a thing that was going to happen.

And for some reason that seemed to baffle Derek.

“But before, you said you didn’t want me touching you. I’m sorry that I have been, but I’ve gotten better control over myself now that you’re not in any imminent danger. It won’t happen again without your permission.” And dammit if he didn’t sound completely sincere. There was no manipulation happening, only Derek’s desire to abide by Stiles’ rules and that kind of floored him, actually.

No one had ever really listened to Stiles like that, certainly never in an intimate relationship and the fact that Derek did was kind of revolutionary.

“You really do listen, don’t you?” Stiles asked with some degree of wonder.

Derek ducked his head. “I listen to everything you say, and I am sorry when I can’t do what you ask, but I’m trying.”

Stiles bit his bottom lip because he wasn’t going to cry, not over that. He blamed his sudden rush of feelings on the clusterfuck of the past day, the past month, really, and waited until he was sure he could talk without his voice breaking before he spoke. “What do you want, Derek?” Because relationships were about communication and while Stiles knew he was pretty damn good at letting his own opinions fly, he wasn’t quite as good at giving other people the verbal space they needed to make their own desires known, and with Derek that was a definite thing he had to be conscientious of.

“I,” Derek began, then shook his head, “I want you to be happy.”

“Done,” Stiles said, “next?”

Derek cocked his head to the side, eyes flicking down to Stiles’ chest before jumping back to his face. “You’re happy?”

“Yep, now what?”

But Derek didn’t seem to be able to comprehend that, even though it was clearly the truth. “But my uncle almost killed you, my mother’s been conspiring to, I don’t even know; lock you up? Keep you from other werewolves and hunters? Your best friend and dad were kidnapped because of my family, who has used you and manipulated you and _I’ve_ wronged you too many times for forgiveness. How could you be happy?” He wasn’t saying it out of judgement, though, Derek actually sounded genuinely baffled.

Stiles shrugged. “I’m not saying I’m thrilled with how things went down because believe me, I’m not, but the people I care about are safe, well, safe enough,” he amended, thinking about his dad’s unconscious form slumped against his bonds in the shadowed distillery, “and we’re both alive.” And fuck it, he might as well get it out there while he had the nerve. “I forgive you, Derek,” he said quietly, enjoying how the werewolf’s eyes flashed blue before he was able to reign in his shock. “I forgive you for being a douche and tapping my phone, though I expect you to take care of that soon because that’s not conducive to a healthy relationship. I even forgive you for manhandling me into the whole handcuff situation, but only because you actually explained what you were thinking after the fact and because I don’t think you’d ever do anything like that to me again.”

Derek shook his head resolutely.

“So I forgive you. I haven’t forgotten, though, and I still might bring it up when I’m pissed off, but I get where you were coming from and I hope that in the future you’ll actually talk to me about things instead of leaping into action with a shitty half-thought-out plan. Okay?”

“Okay,” Derek said softly and after glancing again at Stiles like he was making sure they were still good, he leaned forward slowly and kissed him gently on the mouth. It was chaste, sweet and slow and perfect. And as they touched, Stiles felt something a bit more intense than before, an emotion Derek had obviously tried to bury more deeply than the others, but there it was.

_Love_.

Derek loved him, like he’d confessed, and Stiles grinned against his mouth and would have wrapped his arms around Derek’s neck if his arms had been cooperating. As it was they just kind of twitched against his bare sides and Derek broke the kiss with a smile of his own.

“Let’s get you in the bath,” he said, but instead of immediately moving to help Stiles he shucked his clothes first and then picked him up easily.

“Oh, so you are going to join me?” Stiles asked cheekily and smirked when Derek’s ears flushed red. “Oh my god, please keep being embarrassed by stuff like this, it’s adorable,” he said as he was effortlessly carried to the tub.

Derek carefully stepped in and lowered them both slowly, the water perfectly warm as it lapped at Stiles feet, then up his legs and thighs and groin, his hips and stomach and chest and yeah, it felt pretty awesome.

“Dude,” Stiles groaned, leaning his head back against Derek’s shoulder, his eyes slipping shut. “How do you always get the temperature perfect every single time? I don’t understand.”

Derek shrugged, his hands drifting up and down Stiles’ flank. “I try to make it the same temperature as me,” he said and yeah, Stiles could actually feel that. The water and Derek seemed to be indistinguishable from each other. And that was pretty clever, actually.

“But don’t you want it warmer, I mean, isn’t that the point of a bath? So you can relax in it and stuff?”

Beneath him Derek’s chest rumbled and his hands continued to stroke the accessible planes of Stiles’ bare skin. “If we had the water hot enough for me to feel it you’d be burned,” he said, reflexively tightening his grip before relaxing back and yeah, he was seriously comfortable to lounge against.

“Fair enough,” Stiles said, “but I’m still waiting to hear what you want.”

Derek chuckled and then Stiles felt the gentle scratching of his beard before warm lips pressed against his temple. “You, Stiles, that’s all I want.”

So of course Stiles snorted because how could he not. “Dude, that’s super corny and sweet and all, but I’m pretty sure there’s more to life than my sweet ass.”

“Not just,” Derek said before grumbling and taking a deep breath that made the water dip down along Stiles’ chest, revealing a stip of wet skin that cooled before he breathed out and the warmth lapped up again. “I don’t just want your ass,” he said, implying that the ass was indeed at least _part_ of the thing that he was interested in, so that was cool with Stiles. “I want you to keep working at the job you enjoy doing, I want to keep doing yoga with you if you’re interested, I want to wake up with our arms and legs tangled together, and fall asleep surrounded by your scent. I want to build a life with you, wherever it is you want to live, though I would prefer to be close to my family, but that isn’t as important as being with you.”

“What about your job?” Stiles asked, tilting his head back and finally opening his eyes to see that Derek was staring up at the ceiling like he was lost in thought.

Derek shrugged. “I like being a cop, but I wouldn’t mind a change of pace. Chicago is fine, I wouldn’t hate going back, but it isn’t my first choice.”

“Is Beacon Hills your first choice?” Stiles asked.

Another shrug. “You’re my first choice,” Derek said simply.

“You’re killing me with cute over here,” Stiles said with a laugh. “Holy shit, dude, if Laura’s listening right now I’m pretty sure she’ll never let you live it down.”

Derek gave a playful growl, but his broad hands slid down to cover Stiles’ stomach and yeah, he really wasn’t tired at all. Neither of them were. “I want,” Derek whispered against the shell of his ear and Stiles couldn’t stop his shudder, “you.”

And it was the right time for Stiles to tell Derek the decision he’d made. He moved his hands, which actually did move, so that was a good sign, until they rested over Derek’s, the wet ovals of exposed skin on the backs of his hands chilled by the cooler air of the bathroom. He tried to convey how resolute he was before he spoke, how firm a conviction he held. When he was convinced it was enough, Stiles nodded to himself.

“I want you, too,” he said and relished in the microburst of warm affection that briefly overpowered the steady pulsing of love coming through their bond. “I want the same things you said, to wake up together and be close to family, but we have to do it at our own pace, in our own time. There are still some things I need to wrap up in Chicago, I have a lease to end and bills to pay and I’m sure I’ll have to do things for Youngblood and West to sort out whatever is going on with the legal aspects of the Argent Unlimited business,” Derek probably tried to suppress his growl, but didn’t do too good a job at it. “But with Scott being turned and my dad being put in danger because of me I know my place is in Beacon Hills-”

“Our place,” Derek corrected gently and Stiles nodded.

“Right, our place is here. Well, not here,” he flicked a wrist and droplets of water pattered across the surface of the water and onto Derek’s bent knees. “I don’t want to live with your family and I’m pretty sure my dad wouldn’t be too keen for me, for us, to live with him long-term, either.”

“We could get a place together,” Derek suggested quietly, like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to say that and Stiles dipped his hands back into the water to smooth the hair on Derek’s arms.

“We could,” he said, “but I think we definitely need to also start couples therapy to go along with our yoga because I know I’m certainly not the best partner in the world.”

“And I’ve clearly made a lot of mistakes as well,” Derek added, pulling Stiles a tiny bit closer, like he could hug away his indiscretions. That would have been pretty cool, but they both had things to work through and getting the help of a professional was certainly in their best interest.

“So we’re going to do this, then?” Stiles asked, always needing verbal confirmation when big things happened. It was part of his nature.

Derek hummed and slid his hands down the jut of Stiles’ hips to rest on his slightly parted thighs. “This magic moment,” Derek sang suggestively and Stiles let out a delighted laugh.

“Hey, no fair, you have to pick a different song, you already wooed me with that one,” he said, running his hands up and down Derek’s arms, maybe accidentally pushing the other man’s hands closer to his awakening cock, but whatever, it wasn’t like he couldn’t feel Derek’s half-hard erection pressing against the small of his back.

“Well, in that case,” Derek said adjusting them so Stiles wasn’t lounging quite so firmly against him, which also had the unfortunate side effect of making it so Derek’s hands weren’t close enough to his just to touch. “I might not have the range for this one, but I’ll give it a shot,” he warned, then took a few deep breathes before starting. “At last,” he sang and Stiles could feel a jolt of something light electricity because he knew _exactly_ what Derek was singing, “my love has come along.”

He grinned at that and felt his whole body blush.

“My lonely days are over, and life is like a song,” Derek continued, running his hands up Stiles’ torso to caress his throat, then back down again, skirting over his abs and hips.

“Oh yeah, at last, the skies above are blue. My heart was wrapped up in clover,” both of Derek’s hands drifted back up to lay over Stiles’ heart, which was beating quickly from arousal and the emotions Derek seemed to be expertly pulling from that very part of his body, “the night I looked at you.”

He couldn’t help but remember their first encounter, how Derek had been leather-clad and grumpy, then decked out in his temporary yoga gear and sitting there on the mat like an offering. He definitely owed Laura and Erica more cookies for that particular setup.

“I found a dream that I could speak to. A dream that I can call my own,” Derek sang quietly, reverently and Stiles knew it was because when they’d first shared a dream his mother had been there, had been the one who had moved their relationship a step further by giving them the advice he knew they would never forget.

_It’s time to stop lying._

Derek continued, resting his chin against Stiles’ temple. “I found a thrill to press my cheek to, a thrill that I’ve never known,” and seriously, his voice was sinfully gorgeous, Stiles’ only regret was that he couldn’t see Derek’s expression, but that might have been for the best because he seemed a bit shy about his fucking _incredible_ ability. “Oh, yeah, you smile, you smile, oh and then the spell was cast,” Stiles grinned widely, hugging Derek’s hands more firmly to his chest. “And here we are in heaven,” Derek went on, voice thicker than before, “for you are mine at last.”

Stiles twisted, his stomach against Derek’s as he wrapped a hand around the back of his neck and pulled him down for a kiss. The angle was awkward, but when they kissed the gesture was nothing short of perfection. Derek’s adoration, his love, was an overwhelming wave of emotion that would have made Stiles keen had he any breath left within his lungs. As it was he simply gasped, drawing his knees up to kneel in the warm tub, so he could get a better angle and ravish Derek’s mouth, letting his tongue say all the things he couldn’t seem to articulate, no matter how much he spoke.

That at least wasn’t a lie.

And perhaps one day he’d actually be able to say it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm having a hard time letting go of this fic, so I'm just going to keep on writing it for at least another (few?) chapters. We'll see! I love all the ideas you kittens have about the more domestic side of Sterek ^_^
> 
> Had an idea for a mating run fic today and have already written a few pages because I AM OUT OF CONTROL *sighs*
> 
> This chapter, though...SO MANY FEELS!


	42. Chapter 42

Stiles pulled back far enough to look Derek in the eyes. Up close they were a mesmerizing combination of brown, green, and blue that really shouldn’t have even been possible, but there they were, stunning and perfect and ever watchful.

“Of course you make heterochromia even cooler than it already is,” Stiles accused teasingly, using the pads of his thumbs to brush over the soft skin under Derek’s eyes, which were watching him pretty intensely, actually, adding to his building arousal.

“I want to trace my tongue over every single one of your moles and freckles,” Derek confessed in return, his broad hands gripping Stiles’ hips, which would have jerked forward if Derek had let him.

Jesus the guy was _unbelievable_.

Stiles smiled, slow and genuine and delighted at seeing Derek grin as well. It was rare for him to do that, to show what he was really feeling, so Stiles rewarded him with another kiss; slow and deep and then he realized they could really be doing so many other things. He pulled back just enough to speak against Derek’s lips.

"What was it that Laura said? Something about life-affirming sex?" he asked, pulling back further, widening his eyes and enjoying how Derek's pupils dilated at the suggestion.

"It was," Derek said huskily, and fuck, his _voice_. Stiles could get lost in it and he made a mental note to have Derek read to him sometime because he couldn't imagine anything else he'd rather do with him. Well, besides the obvious, and half a dozen other things. But whatever, having Derek read to him was definitely on the list of things to do, especially since they didn’t seem to be in mortal peril anymore, and that was an unexpected bonus.

He slid one hand from where it had been gripping Derek's shoulder, down across his warm chest, biting his lip when Derek made a quiet noise in the back of his throat as Stiles inadvertently caressed his nipple and yeah, that was happening.

He used both hands on the second pass and Derek shuddered.

“How do you want me?” Stiles asked and reveled in the way Derek’s eyes widened at the offer.

“Me?” Derek asked, but Stiles knew his real question was _you trust me_? Though he wasn’t quite able to articulate that.

Stiles barely even felt to urge to make a joke because he understood just how much the answer meant to Derek, to both of them. So instead he nodded firmly. “I’m willing to try,” he said, knowing that he was answering the unspoken rather than the spoken. Or maybe he was answering both.

_Whatever_.

“So, how do you want me?” Stiles repeated, his hands sliding back up until they were holding onto Derek’s shoulders, his knees were starting to ache from kneeling on the hard surface in the cooling water, but he could wait.

“Can I?” Derek asked quietly, his hands moving from Stiles’ hips to his ass in a delightfully forward manner and Stiles was finally able to give a kind of stuttered thrust because he was hard and not even the chilled air on his dick could stop that.

“Your choice,” Stiles said, echoing dialogue from one of their previous erotic encounters.

Derek grinned wolfishly, eyes flashing blue and yeah, that was hot. Stiles kissed him firmly, damp hands wetting his hair as he slowly pulled Derek forward, moving enough for his cock to brush against the other man’s chest and he groaned. It was a raw kind of sensation, being so close to Derek again, even though it really hadn’t been all that long since they’d last been together.

“Am I just going to get off rutting against your chest or do you have another plan in mind,” Stiles said breathlessly, then lowered his head to nip at Derek’s neck, still not impressed by the unblemished skin where his mark had been, but there was always time to make another one later.

Derek’s hands moved to grip his hips again and he breathed out a laugh. “Pushy, pushy,” he said around an obvious smile, then did a bit of his own nipping before he effortlessly lifted Stiles as he stood up, waiting for him to clumsily wrap his long legs around his surprisingly slim waist and then they were moving out of the bathroom, dripping water everywhere and Stiles couldn’t help but laugh.

“Dude, seriously? You know we’re going to have to clean that up later don’t you, oh, ung, right there,” he said, voice stuttering as Derek lowered him on the bed and began kissing and licking his way down Stiles’ neck, focusing on the spot where his own mark had been. Stiles wasn’t even sure if it was still there, but after Derek’s newest ministrations he was confident the skin would be freshly red and tender. Delightfully so.

Stiles’ legs parted further, his feet flat on the bed as he pushed up, trying to get some kind of contact, some friction, his hands laced in Derek’s hair, holding him where he was, practically mauling the tender skin. It was perfect, having Derek practically wrapped around him, but there was still something nagging him, a doubt in the back of his mind that made it impossible to truly let go until he’d satisfied it. He lowered his body back onto the bed and squeezed his eyes shut tight before opening them, needing to see what happened.

“Knife,” Stiles said, hating that he had to say it, had to make sure. Derek pulled back far enough to look at Stiles, his entire body immediately froze where it was poised over him, muscles taut.

“Are you okay? What do you need?” he asked, his concern flooding through their bond and Stiles had to take a deep, steadying breath before he carefully moved his hands and took hold of Derek’s face.

“Okay, so that was shitty of me, but I had to see what you’d do,” he said, feeling guilty but not altogether sorry for having used their safeword because it was important that Stiles be able to trust him like that, when he was at his most vulnerable, in a position others had used against him too many times before.

Derek deflated, lowering himself so his body covered Stiles’, his arms braced on either side of Stiles’ head, face buried against his neck on the unmarked side as he sniffed, then licked there, like he was trying to comfort them both through the contact, the scent marking.

Stiles squirmed at the sensation, but didn’t make any move to pull away, tracing his hands over Derek’s damp skin until his arms were wrapped tight around his shoulders, holding him there.

Finally, Derek seemed to gather himself as he rubbed his coarse chin against Stiles’ skin. “You don’t ever have to apologize for telling me to stop,” he said quietly. The air around them had a kind of fragility that warned against loud speech. “I will always honor your wishes. Well,” he amended because that was pretty much impossible and they both knew it, “I’ll do my best. But here, when we’re together, I don’t ever want you to feel unsafe. So now it’s your turn to choose. What do you want, Stiles?”

He closed his eyes against the prickling feel of the relieved tears that threatened because he knew, could feel, how completely true Derek’s words were. His conviction pulsed through the bond, along with his affection, his love, and that thick sense of unflagging loyalty. Stiles took a shuddering breath and kissed Derek’s temple, imbuing the action with his own intense feelings he could hardly even parse through.

“I want you,” he said and felt Derek’s body jolt with a laugh at having his words turned back on him. “I want you to show me,” he continued and it was a delicate kind of thing to ask for, after what they’d gone through. It was a request easily mismanaged, misinterpreted, but Derek seemed to understand the gravity of it because he made a wolfish noise, an inquiry, and Stiles nuzzled his nose against Derek’s hair line until he seemed content with the answer.

Pulling back enough for them to make eye contact, Derek nodded, waited for Stiles to nod in response, then moved back down the bed on his hands and knees, watching him even as he lowered himself down to take Stiles’ cock in his hand, his touch hot and just firm enough.

“I love you,” Derek said, then lowered his mouth to lick the precome off of the tip. Stiles let out a shuddering breath as Derek pulled back enough to whisper “I love you” again before he took him into his mouth, eyes never leaving Stiles’ face as his cheeks hollowed and his head bobbed wetly up and down. When Stiles was reduced to breathlessness, Derek finally pulled off, his stubble scratching the sensitive skin on his inner thighs. “I love you,” he repeated, kissing his way back up Stiles’ body.

Stiles smiled softly at him and leaned his head up enough to capture his lips in a kiss, tasting the salt of himself in the warmth of Derek’s mouth before he rested his head back and surveyed the tousle-haired man hovering over him. “Are you okay with topping right now?” he asked because it was best not to assume things in the bedroom, even having been there before. Besides, there were plenty of other things they could do that didn’t involve penetration, though Stiles was incredibly okay with having Derek inside of him again.

Derek made a considering noise, then scrunched up his nose with a burst of regret. “We don’t have lube,” he said, then paused, head tilted slightly like he was listening to something else and yeah, he was probably listening to his sister, which wasn’t creepy at all when their hard dicks were an inch apart and leaking. Derek made a face, like he was having the same thought as Stiles, then huffed out a laugh. “Okay, so there is lube,” he said, stretching out to open the nightstand drawer and pull out a bottle of the same expensive brand as had been in their dream.

“Can we just ignore the fact that your sister was in any way involved in this discussion?” Stiles asked, taking the bottle from Derek and unscrewing the lid so he could pick off the safety seal.

Derek nodded quickly and bent down so he could lick Stiles lips before plunging his tongue between his teeth in a move that startled Stiles for half a second before he enthusiastically met the other man’s advances, hands fumbling to screw the lid back on and then he was blindly finding one of Derek’s hands and thrusting the bottle into it.

Always so unbelievably suave, Derek somehow managed to keep kissing him breathless as a slick finger slid over Stiles’ balls and perineum, then into him with a kind of enviable dexterity. He groaned against Derek’s mouth, hands holding onto his face, keeping him there because it was _perfect_ ; every slide of his finger, then fingers, creating the kind of friction he couldn’t help but arch into, his panted cries swallowed by Derek’s lips and tongue and teeth, the two points of contact, his mouth and fingers, making Stiles ache for _more_.

He finally articulated that, whispered it with a hitching kind of breath, and Derek smiled against his lips. “As you wish,” he whispered in return and Stiles couldn’t help his startled laugh because _of course_ Derek had watched, or maybe even read, _The Princess Bride_.

Derek pulled back, clicking open the lube, but then he hesitated as if suddenly remembering something and Stiles saw the problem immediately.

There was no condom.

Apparently that hadn’t been part of Laura’s invasive helpfulness. “I’m clean,” Stiles said quietly. “I know this is a weird time to have this talk,” he was aware of how flushed his body was, splotches of red across his pale chest and neck and face, plus their aching erections, “but I’m okay with it if you are. If not, that’s fine, too, we can do something else.” And really, that should have been part of their kink negotiation, but Stiles had figured condoms were a given when they’d discussed it and apparently Derek had, too, which was stupid of them, but there it was.

“It’s okay with me,” Derek said and Stiles felt a warm sunburst of awe, of reverence that he couldn’t remember having experienced before and he realized it was what Derek was feeling.

It was quite a reaction to have in the face of condomless sex, but Stiles just smiled and nodded. “I’m ready,” he said, knowing it was best to keep on with the verbal assurances since they’d recently been on such rocky ground due to some unfortunate miscommunications.

Derek nodded in return and slicked himself. Stiles didn’t miss that he held the base of his dick with perhaps more force than was strictly necessary, but then again he could feel how aroused Derek was, so maybe it was something he felt he had to do to keep from having to stop before he was even seated within Stiles.

He went slowly, so much so that Stiles had to bite back a noise of frustration because Derek had prepped him thoroughly and he was so ready it took a lot of willpower not to hook his legs around the back of Derek’s thighs and force him forward. He didn’t, though, he let Derek keep control of the achingly slow pace until he was finally there.

Stiles panted around a smile, elated at finally having the other man in and around him, the perfect throb of Derek’s dick inside of him made his heart race. And really, he couldn’t help himself. “Moon river, wider than a mile, I’m crossing you in style someday,” he sang breathlessly, doing a poor job of holding back his giggles at seeing Derek’s blissful expression turn stunned. “You dream maker, you heartbreaker. Wherever you’re going I’m going someday,” he continued and Derek breathed out a laugh, hiding his face against Stiles throat, kissing him there before shifting his hips just enough to send a spark of pleasure through him, making his voice wobble as he tried to continue. “Two, uh, drifters off to see the world, oh fuck. There’s such a world to see.”

“We’re after the same rainbow’s end,” Derek sang with him, giving another thrust and it wasn’t at all fair that he could do that and sing so beautifully at the same time. “Waiting ‘round the bend,” Derek went on as Stiles was reduced to inarticulate gasping moans. “My huckleberry friend, moon river and me.”

They lost themselves in it, then in the slick slide of flesh and their taut muscles straining to get more, get closer, breath mingling as they panted into each other’s mouths, whispering encouragements and affection. Neither of them could last long, which doesn’t surprise Stiles in the least because they’d both had some close calls over the past day. They came, Stiles first and then Derek, each too filled with ecstasy to even make much noise, like stars colliding in the void, their pleasure created a powerful feedback loop that has Stiles sprawled boneless beneath Derek’s larger bulk, but the press was welcome as they shared a surprisingly chaste kiss.

“Did you seriously just woo me, during sex, with a song about the moon?” Derek asked, amused and content and softening inside of Stiles without seeming to care. His hair was slick with sweat and he looked utterly amazing, lying satiated over him.

Stiles scoffed, but he couldn’t keep a smile. “Well, I mean it pretty much has my name in it, plus the word rainbow, so it’s kind of a triple threat, you know? Also, Sinatra’s like the king of wooing, so there’s that, too. Come on, you know your inner wolf is howling,” he teased.

The bed, and Stiles, pulsed with Derek’s silent laughter and it wasn’t long until he joined in, his own mirth louder because that’s just how he expressed himself and then Derek flipped them so Stiles was sprawled on his chest, Derek’s spent cock slipping free wetly, but they just continued to shake with laughter, ignoring the aftermath of the sex even though it would quickly get sticky and gross.

“Is this going to be a thing with us?” Stiles asked, hands tucked between their chests as he nudged Derek’s chin with his forehead. “Are we going to have musical sex all the time? Should I start taking voice lessons?”

Derek’s diaphragm gave another jump before he slid his hands down from Stiles’ shoulder blades to his lower back, teasingly edging toward the top of his ass. “It appears the musical sex is here to stay, though we’re going to practice if we want to do a duet,” he said with a serious tone and Stiles buried his face against Derek’s collarbone because he was such an adorable dork, sometimes.

Once he got better control of himself he moved his head so he could lick the underside of Derek’s jaw, reveling in the quick intake of breath that caused him to take. “Better start listening to some Sonny and Cher, then,” he said with a smirk.

“As you wish,” Derek replied quietly and Stiles couldn’t help but kiss him for it.

  
  
  


Laura yelled up to them a few hours later, when they were thoroughly spent and lying languidly in a tangle of limbs on the rumpled bed. Stiles couldn’t quite make out what she was saying, but he kind of didn’t want the peace to end. It was like they’d been in the field in their shared dreams, separated from all the angst in their lives, but thinking of that made him remember his dad and how he’d been last and the illusion was pretty thoroughly shattered.

Real life called, but that didn’t mean he had to go willingly.

Derek grumbled, obviously feeling the same way, and after kissing Stiles’ forehead he stretched out with a sigh. “Mom and Dad are coming home with Boyd, Erica, and Isaac,” he said, swinging his feet over the edge of the bed, but didn’t make a move to stand so Stiles scooted over far enough so he could wrap his arms around Derek’s bare waist.

“What does that have to do with us?” he whined playfully, nipping lightly at Derek’s side and grinning when he jumped.

“It means,” Derek said as he replaced the skin on his side with the crook of a broad finger that Stiles set his teeth around, blushing when he tasted himself on the skin there. Derek smirked down at him because of course he knew why Stiles’ face was suddenly splotchy red. “It means that we should probably take a quick shower, get dressed, and help Laura prepare some food. It’s been too long since you last ate and with the amount of magic you’ve used over the past day I’m worried about you. We can check on your dad, too.”

Stiles gave the digit one last lick, reveling in the flash of blue eyes, then leaned his head back. “You’re always worried about me,” he pointed out, not unkindly because it was actually pretty nice to be cared about.

Derek shrugged. “Of course I am, you’re my mate.”

“And your anchor,” Stiles said with a solemn tone.

“That, too.”

Stiles sprawled back out on the bed, his arms and legs spread wide as he stretched. “And you’re mine,” he said with a wicked grin, and was pretty proud of himself when Derek answered that grin with too-sharp teeth and solid blue eyes. He just had time to squawk before the werewolf pounced and then any protests he might have made devolved into choked laughter because really? It was all kind of perfect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song from last chapter was Etta James' "At Last"...sort of forgot to mention that because I was caught up in all the feels!  
> This chapter is Frank Sinatra's "Moon River."
> 
> I like the theory that Hoechlin has centralized heterochromia because his eyes are just incredible...  
> SAPPY SEX SCENE!


	43. Chapter 43

They showered with only a few breathless kisses and zero orgasms because they had shit to do and if they went for another round Stiles was pretty sure neither would stop before the two of them were too exhausted to function, and that just wouldn’t do. After reluctantly cutting off the water and toweling dry they found some of Derek’s clothes folded neatly in the dresser. Stiles grabbed the first shirt he found and tugged it over his head, freezing with it awkwardly rucked up around his shoulders when he saw Derek’s eyes flash blue.

“Is this a scent thing or what?” he asked with a smirk as he pulled it down because, looking back, him wearing Derek’s clothes had always seemed to evoke a similar kind of reaction from him.

Derek’s brow furrowed and he crowded in close, snuffling at the mark he’d made on Stiles’ neck. “Something like that,” he grumbled and Stiles wrapped him in a hug, sliding his hands under Derek’s shirt to scratch lightly on his back, enjoying the heat of it and the comfort they both felt at the touch.

“Hey, no worries big guy, I don’t mind, though you’ve gotta admit I look a little ridiculous hitching up these pants every five seconds,” he said, not giving in to the temptation to go to town on the smooth expanse of Derek’s neck that was right there in front of his lips.

Derek grumbled something else and Stiles rubbed his cheek against the Derek's, liking the way his stubble felt against his skin. “What was that, now?” he asked, pulling him a bit closer, their chests pressed firmly against each other and Derek’s hands seemed to settle automatically on his hips.

“You can wear my belt,” Derek suggested quietly and Stiles bit his lip to keep from smiling. Derek didn’t exactly sound thrilled about the proposition, but then again the black belt seemed a standard part of his gloomy wardrobe. He’d probably feel weird without it, even though his jeans were always tight enough for him not to actually need it.

“I swear I’m buying you the most festive holiday sweater I can find,” he announced, chuckling at Derek’s outraged noise.

They pulled away and Stiles thought it had been ages since he’d grinned so much. It felt good. He felt good. “Come on, let’s go cook something, I’m starving,” he said, twining his fingers in Derek’s and tugging him toward the door. “No, don’t worry about the belt,” he said when Derek’s other hand went to the buckle. “Besides, I have too many fantasies about being on my knees taking that off of you with my teeth. We wouldn’t want to disrupt my sexual headcanon, now would we?”

Derek kind of looked, and felt, like his mind had been blown, so Stiles just chuckled and led the way out the door and down the stairs, winking at Erica when she stepped in the front door. Behind her he could see Boyd and Isaac, the twins and Derek’s parents all talking outside, but he didn’t stop to chat because it seriously felt like his stomach was starting to eat itself he was so hungry. Which was kind of intense for him not having even really noticed when he and Derek had been alone, but there it was, the sensation intense and annoying.

Laura was waiting for them in the kitchen with a sassy look on her face like she knew exactly what they’d been up to. Which, yeah, she was a werewolf and had told her brother about the lube she’d stashed in his nightstand while they were preparing to have sex, so she probably did know what they’d done, but they all pretended she hadn’t as they talked about the menu for that night’s meal, which Stiles didn’t actually pay much attention to because he was oddly distracted by things and had a hard time focusing because he had crossed the line into energy-draining hunger.

And it had seriously been a long while since Stiles had eaten, so Derek made him sit on a stool with a plate of cheese and crackers in front of him and before he knew it he’d devoured the entire thing along with a tall glass of orange juice and he was _still_ hungry, but functional enough to help, so he began cutting up the oddly colored purple cauliflower for a massive casserole dish for twice baked cauliflower. Derek was doing something with a bubbling pot of stew while Laura messed around with some apples. Stiles had no idea what she was doing, but it seemed to require a lot of concentration and sharp knives. Which.

_Huh_.

“I have no problem doing this,” Stiles said, looking down at the neatly chopped pieces of cauliflower and that was kind of revelatory.

Derek made an inquiring noise as he looked over, then froze when he saw the blade in Stiles’ hand, his eyes turning blue as they stared at first his chest, then at his eyes, body poised as if on the cusp of explosive action.

“Dude, I’m, it’s okay. I’m okay,” he said, smiling, but he put the knife down because Derek looked about ready to tackle him away from it. As soon as it touched the cutting board Derek’s arms were around him, pulling him back in a tight hug, twisting so Stiles wasn’t even near the counter anymore, making it so that Derek was between him and the potential weapon and that was really a bit excessive, but whatever, it was also very _Derek_.

Laura was looking at them strangely, then glanced around them at the knife and made a soft _ah_ noise, like she got it, but still didn’t understand why her brother was freaking the hell out. Stiles didn’t really understand it either, but then again Derek hadn’t always behave entirely rationally, so whatever.

“Want to switch?” he asked lightly and Derek buried his face against Stiles’ neck to take a shuddering breath before he pulled back, eyes no longer glowing and he nodded mutely.

Nonverbal Derek was back, apparently, but that was fine, Stiles could handle that. He'd barely made it to the stove when Isaac and Boyd walked into the kitchen, nodding in greeting before deftly taking over for them and Stiles found himself ushered out of the room and into the hallway.

“Okay,” he said slowly, glancing at Derek, who still hadn’t said anything, but he handed Stiles one of their phones. He pressed the home button and saw it was his, the pair of them doing the insane square-shaped yoga pose in the background. “Oh, shit, I should call my dad, or at least Melissa, right?” he asked, already scrolling through his contacts and Derek led them to Talia’s office, which he appreciated because werewolf hearing wasn’t conducive to any degree of privacy, as Laura had proven during their sexy times.

His dad didn’t answer his phone, which was probably to be expected, but Melissa picked up hers on the fourth ring. “He’s going to be fine, Stiles,” she said without preamble, voice belying her good humor. “He was dosed with something like chloroform, but it’s wearing off pretty predictably. He’ll have a hell of a headache when he does wake up, but I don’t want you coming here and having a panic attack, okay?” And yeah, she knew him pretty well because that kind of reaction was an entirely possible if he saw his dad in a hospital bed, unresponsive and hooked up to machines.

_Just like his mom._

Stiles shuddered.

“Okay,” he said meekly, closing his eyes as Derek’s hand gripped the back of his neck. It was where the crone had grabbed him the night before, but the pain from that was gone, as were the scratches on his arm from where Peter had accidentally gotten him, and all of his other injuries. He only wished his dad had the same kind of magical healing and shit, Scott actually _did_ , but Stiles had no idea how to even get into that with her. After a second he decided not to because, really, it wasn’t his secret to tell.

“Do you know what happened?” Melissa asked quietly, like she was afraid of being overheard. Stiles swallowed and glanced at Derek, who was anxiously listening intently, but before he could say anything she continued. “I know he was brought in by some guys, both tall, young, one black and one white. They said found him when they were out walking in the preserve. Do you know anything about it? I mean, his car is in the parking lot here,” her voice trailed off.

Stiles swallowed again and leaned so his side was flush with Derek’s. “I don’t know,” he lied, hating it, but there wasn’t a good explanation available to him that didn’t include some version of the extremely fucked-up truth, “but I’m just glad he’s okay. He didn’t answer his phone,” Stiles said and he was choking on the words, which was stupid because he _knew_ his dad was okay, that _everyone_ was okay, well, except for Peter, but he couldn’t help the feeling of dread that swept through him because his dad had almost _not_ been okay.

“I know he was out looking for Scott,” Melissa said, sounding exasperated when she said her son’s name, which was kind of weird and Stiles bit his lip because she _didn’t_ know and he wasn’t sure how to tell her.

“About Scott,” he said, not even entirely sure where he was going with that sentence because it wasn’t like he could go into detail about what had happened, that her son was locked in the Hale’s basement to keep from wolfing out and maiming people because he’d been kidnapped and bitten by alpha werewolves and shit, Stiles wondered how long it took for an omega without a pack to start losing it, his humanity or whatever because if it happened quickly he’d have to find a way to talk Scott into accepting Talia as his alpha sooner rather than lat-

“My son’s an idiot,” she said fondly and Stiles gave Derek a look, but he just shook his head, clearly not aware of what was going on, either. “Don’t worry, hun, Chris called and explained the whole thing, but as soon as I see him I’m going to let that dumb kid know just how impressed I am with his sudden urge to commune with nature. You’d think he’d have learned not to go wandering in the woods after the stunts the two of you pulled as kids. You didn’t have anything to do with his spirit quest, did you?” and her warning tone said he better not have.

Stiles winced.

“Well,” we said, drawing out the word and she snorted.

“I swear the only reason I have gray hairs is because of the two of you. I’ll have you know that I’m too young for that!” Melissa said and Stiles could tell she was smiling. “But, listen, why don’t you have Scott come over to be with you,” she said gently and Stiles was reminded of how great a mom she was to her son and to Stiles when he needed it. “I don’t think you should be alone right now.”

“I’ll talk to him,” Stiles promised, “but I’m, I’m actually with Derek right now, but I’ll see if Scott and Allison want to come to the Hale house for dinner.” Which was actually pretty much the truth, except that Scott and Allison didn’t exactly have much of a _choice_ as to whether or not they wanted to be in the Hale’s house since they were already there, locked in a cell in the basement and Stiles could feel his heartbeat quicken because there was no _fucking_ way he was going to let _that_ slide, the whole involuntary containment aspect of it. “Uh, thanks for picking up, Melissa, will you call me when my dad’s awake?” he asked, untangling himself from Derek and stalking toward the door.

She agreed and Stiles hung up, twisting the doorknob before Derek’s hand moved in front of him to press against the door.

“Stiles,” he said with a tenderness that made Sitles’ eyes want to slip shut, but he just froze there, tense and waiting. Waiting for the other shoe to drop because that was how his relationships worked. Everything was awesome, perfect, and then came the big reveal. The cheating or the drugs or the knife. It was always like that, like someone had yanked the rug out from underneath him and he _never_ expected it because he was an _idiot_.

“Stiles,” Derek said again, gently, moving so he had his back against the door, slipping into the space with ease despite his muscular frame. “Will you please look at me,” he asked quietly and Stiles’ eyes automatically tracked up his soft blue shirt to his eyes. Derek's expression was concerned, but he wasn’t touching Stiles, clearly aware that there was some freaking-out going on and that Stiles wouldn’t appreciate the contact. “Would you like to go downstairs to see Scott and Allison, now? That area’s soundproofed, too, so you can talk about whatever you want without being overheard.”

And that wasn’t what he’d expected at all, but then again Stiles knew Derek was different. He knew it, but sometimes he couldn’t seem to get it through his head that his lover, his anchor and mate, _wasn’t going to_ pull the rug out from under him. Because he loved Stiles. He’d said it with words, with his emotions every time they touched, and even his gaze, his impossible-colored eyes said it whenever he looked at Stiles.

“Okay,” Stiles replied faintly, and let Derek lead them out into the hall and to a reinforced basement door like the one that had been in the house in Wisconsin, only it was more worn-looking and less high tech. There wasn’t an electronic screen on the wall, just an old-school keypad.

If Stiles had been alone he would have hesitated, but Derek was with him, the world’s most muscular shadow, so he swallowed down his nerves and pulled on the heavy door and let it swing open on silent hinges. There was a handle on the inside of it, but no spikes, so he motioned for Derek to precede him, knowing they'd both be more comfortable that way.

But Derek just stared at him for a second. “You want me to go with you?” he asked, confused, which confused Stiles because _of course_ he wanted Derek to go with him.

“Yes, I mean, if you want to,” Stiles amended, realizing it was probably a weird thing to ask, to have his werewolf lover hang out with him and his suddenly-werewolf best friend, though they’d gotten along well enough before. Well, after they'd both warmed up to each other. He wasn’t actually sure how the werewolfiness would impact their tentative bro-bond.

Derek nodded, still seeming a bit perplexed, but he went first down the dimly lit stairwell, pausing a few steps down to wait for Stiles to pull the door closed behind them.

“Just let me know if you want me to go back upstairs,” Derek told him, then started down again, and Stiles reached out to grab onto his shoulders, holding on as they descended, needing the contact because he was inexplicably unsure of himself, of how to talk to his best friend, his brother, about what had happened to him, all because of Stiles.

The stairs ended in a concrete room, mostly empty except for a few dusty workbenches and a scattering of rusted tools. Derek went to one wall and Stiles realized it was actually a sliding door painted to look like the rest of the space. Derek pulled, the muscles of his arms straining until it slid on the hidden track and into the wall.

“Neat trick,” he said in approval, but then there was a ferocious growl from down the poorly illuminated hallway and Derek was in front of him, crowding him back toward the stairs away from the apparent danger.

It took Stiles an embarrassingly long moment to realize that the noise was coming from Scott, of all people, and his jaw dropped.

“Scotty?” he called out, knowing he wasn’t a match for Derek’s strength or reflexes, so he stayed behind him rather than risk getting into any sort of physical confrontation with him over who should be in front. Besides, he was starting to see what was going on.

Maybe.

The growls quieted enough for him to hear Allison call out his name in an unsure question.

“Hey Alli,” he said, trying to make his own voice even and calm, though he didn’t exactly feel either of those things. He reached out and grabbed the back of Derek’s shirt with both hands and moved so his chest was brushing against the other man in an attempt to comfort them both. Even without touching skin, Stiles could tell that Derek was on edge, on the verge of shifting at least his claws and fangs if he hadn’t already.

“Just a sec,” Allison said, then Stiles could sort of make out whispering, her voice and, blessedly, Scott’s. He sagged forward, his forehead on Derek’s spine just below the collar of his shirt and he just _breathed_ for a second because Scott was _alive_.

He’d known that, intellectually, but hearing even the faintest sound of his voice was enough to settle something inside of him he hadn’t even been aware had come loose. It was like knowing that his dad was okay, that Melissa was taking care of him, seeing that Derek was there for him. The most important people in his life were okay, so Stiles was as well.

Derek reached back behind him and kind of awkwardly wrapped his arm around Stiles' waist, pressing them together. Stiles didn’t bother to fight back his smile and nuzzled the fabric under his nose a bit, reveling in the hum of content it produced in Derek, his chest vibrating with it.

“Uh, Scott wants you to come alone,” Allison said, clearly unsure of the request.

“Not going to happen,” Derek replied immediately, but he didn’t sound pissed off, just firm, unyielding.

Scott growled again and so did Derek, but it sounded different and-

“Oh my god, did you just mock him?” Stiles asked, incredulous. Because he knew Derek could be a bit petty sometimes, but seeing, well, hearing it in action was a whole different experience.

Derek gave a little half-shrug and Stiles was pretty sure that he would have been smirking if the situation had been just a bit less dire. “He was insulting me, so I insulted him back,” he said, like that was a perfectly acceptable thing to do to a newly bitten werewolf his mother and sister had locked in a cage in their basement.

“You’re both unbelievable, this is going to turn into another pissing contest like the video game, isn’t it?” Stiles asked rhetorically with a sigh. He wasn’t really angry, just a bit emotionally flayed from all of the almost-dying that had happened, so he let go of Derek’s shirt and tried to skirt around him, but as Stiles had predicted before, his movement was blocked by Derek’s heavier frame and werewolf reflexes.

“Jesus, at least lead the way if you’re going to be an asshole about this,” Stiles said, becoming more and more exasperated the longer he had to wait to see his best friend.

Derek was still obviously conflicted, reluctantly doing as Stiles had instructed, but he made sure to keep Stiles behind him as they made their way down the dark hallway.

There was a light at the end of the passage, but the way there was just shadows and the claustrophobic closed-in feeling of a cave, cement walls and floor keeping the place cool and slightly damp. He could hear the echo of his own breathing.

“This is pretty dramatic,” he commented, hands having found their way back to the fabric of Derek’s shirt, keeping close enough to almost trip them with every step.

Derek probably rolled his eyes, but Stiles couldn’t see it. “It’s to keep the human members of our family safe just as much as it is to keep the werewolves from accidentally running off and getting hurt. We have a lot of land, plus the preserve, but where there are established packs of werewolves there are often hunters and omegas looking for either pack or power.

“So that’s a thing? Omegas trying to buy their way in since they don’t have a pack of their own?” Stiles asked, but then they were close enough to the light that he could see the bars bolted into the floor and ceiling, separating that side of the room into three cages. Which was kind of weird because it would have been easy to reach through the bars to touch someone in the cage next to them, but then again maybe that was part of the whole pack thing? Like they’d gain comfort from that, or they were trusted enough to either not hurt each other or to stay out of reach.

Scott and Allison were along the far wall. She was tucked in the corner, looking generally unconcerned, but Scott was crouched in front of her, his face distorted from the shift, eyes solid yellow, fangs and claws exposed-

“Dude, your facial hair is crazy. Is that a widow’s peak? Derek, do you have a widow’s peak?” Stiles asked, trying again to get around the werewolf for a better look at his friend, but Derek just side-stepped easily.

The ass.

Scott growled.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, dude, take a chill pill,” Stiles said with a startled laugh, Scott had always been protective of him from the time they’d buddied up on the playground as children, so it kind of made sense that it would carry over into his more primal form, if that was what his beta form could be considered. “Think of that birthmark on Allison’s thigh or something, just calm the hell down, will ya?”

Scott gave a kind of shocked woof noise that Stiles vowed to mock him for until the end of time, and suddenly he was back to normal. Well, he had his human face on, at least. Stiles wasn’t even sure what _normal_ was anymore.

“Hey, Alli, how’s it hanging? You want an extra pillow or something?” Stiles asked, putting his hands on Derek’s shoulders and jumping up to look over his head at his friends, and also to be obnoxious. There were pillows and blankets in the cage, which was still bullshit because it was _a fucking cage_. A few of them were ripped, probably torn by Scott’s claws, and a fluffing of feathers littered the concrete. In any other circumstances Stiles would have assumed the two of them had had a pillow fight, but no, there was only-tentatively-controlled werewolfiness going on so that probably wasn’t the case.

“It’s okay,” Allison responded, reaching out to grab Scott’s arm and he instantly settled back to sit next to her, but still slightly in front, like Derek was going to go tearing through the cage and try to take her away.

Ridiculous.

“So, uh, sorry about all of this,” Stiles said, moving enough so he could see his friends, but not enough for Derek to protest. “I mean, it’s pretty much my fault you guys are in there,” and the guilt churned his stomach.

Derek was shaking his head, though, his hand reaching down to hold onto Stiles’, concern and his own guilt filtering through to a degree that made Stiles feel even more miserable.

“I mean,” he said, voice thickening with his emotions, “apparently I’m magic, like my mom, and that asshole who kidnapped you has been trying to get to me for over a year-”

“Cassandra,” Scott said with a horrified kind of recognition. He was amazingly astute, sometimes. It never failed to shock Stiles, even though he’d known the guy for nearly his entire life.

“Yeah, Cassandra was part of it, but that guy, Deucalion, he was an alpha werewolf. Like an alpha of alphas-”

“Wait, was?” Scott asked, two for two.

Stiles used his free hand to scratch the back of his head and Derek gave his other hand a comforting squeeze. “Yeah, was. Same with Gerard Argent. They were alphas, but-” his voice trailed off and he couldn’t even say it. He was too much of a coward.

“Stiles used his magic to create a lightning bolt so powerful it vaporized them,” Derek said, which was helpful and slightly horrifying.

“Dude, cool,” Scott said, and yeah, Stiles supposed it was that, too.

Derek huffed, though, clearly not liking Scott’s reaction, but Stiles poked him in the ribs with a finger until he flinched. He hadn’t forgotten that the guy was ticklish and was not above using that knowledge to his advantage.

“What Scott means is thank you,” Allison said mildly, the kind of tone that made the hair on the back of his neck stand up because it inevitably concealed barely-restrained annoyance.

Scott looked at her, confused, before she communicated something to him with her eyes and some subtle facial expressions, and then he blanched, looking a bit frantic as he turned back to Stiles. “I mean, yeah, thanks, dude. I’m sorry you had to do that, I know how you feel about that kind of stuff and-” he would have kept rambling on, Stiles knew, so he jumped in to put them both out of their misery.

“It’s fine, Scott. Well, murder isn’t exactly _fine_ , but it _will_ _be_. _I_ will be fine, eventually. My dad was kind of caught up in things, though. The three alphas that got away from the old hospital dosed him with chloroform or something and he’s at the actual hospital, now, but your mom’s looking out for him so he should be okay once he wakes up.” And there was that tightness in his throat, the kind that came before a panic attack or a crying jag, either or.

Scott was on his feet, moving purposefully toward the closed door to the cage and Derek tried to shuffle him back again, but he wasn’t having it. “Dude, cut it out,” he said, using a move his dad had taught him to wriggle out of his grip and then he had his arm through a gap and Scott didn’t hesitate as he reached through with both hands and pulled Stiles close. It was the kind of hug they’d shared hundreds of times, well, minus the bars digging into his hips and chest, but Stiles didn’t care about that because his friend, his brother, was safe.

“I thought I was going to go crazy when I saw you lying there on the operating table with that blind asshole threatening you and I didn’t know how I was going to _survive_ without you, man,” Stiles murmured against his friend’s neck.

Scott actually laughed at that and Stiles started a bit, drawing back to see he had a big grin on his face and tears in his eyes. “I’m not really a man though, right? I mean, the claws were kind of a dead give-away, plus Allison explained some things to me when I finally calmed down long enough to listen.”

Stiles couldn’t help but grin and he ruffled Scott’s already messy hair. “Dude, just because you have some fun new accessories doesn’t change who you are,” he said with a watery smile of his own. He really hoped that was true, thoughts of omegas going through his head.

“Dude, your heart totally did a thing when you said that, is that normal?” he asked, finally glancing over Stiles’ shoulder at where Derek was hovering, probably ready to forcibly separate them should it prove necessary.

Derek glanced between them, obviously debating with himself before he shook his head. “When someone’s heart does that it means they’re lying, though some people can lie without the skip.”

The traitor.

“Not cool, Derek,” Stiles said, scowling, but he couldn’t really be mad because it was progress, the fact that Scott was actually seeking information about what was going on from an actual werewolf instead of burying his head in the sand. Stiles approved, even if it was at his expense. “But I’m not lying when I say you can keep a firm grip on your humanity,” he insisted.

“There’s an if in there,” Scott said, pulling out of Stiles’ arms and moving back so he could hold Allison’s hand. Stiles didn’t blame him, not after what he’d seen with anchors. It was actually a pretty awesome instinct and he stepped back as well until he could feel Derek’s body heat against his spine.

“Okay, I think we might be getting ahead of ourselves,” Stiles said, running a hand through his hair and probably messing it up, but he didn’t even care because there was just so _much_ to tell. “So, for me this all started last Thanksgiving,” he said and Derek slipped his hand into Stiles, lacing their fingers and gripping in a way that said he wasn’t letting go.

Stiles appreciated it because he had a long and pretty awful story to tell, and a little moral support went a long way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are types of cauliflower that are purple (and others that are orange). The purple ones are a bit bitter, but I mean, they're so cool! How could you possibly pass that up?
> 
> This one took a bit of extra time (and I worked way a lot of hours over the past two days, so there's that, too), but here it is!
> 
> Fun fact, I can actually feel my brain fuzz out and stop really processing information when I'm hungry. Woohoo! Anyone else?


	44. Chapter 44

Stiles was pretty sure Talia had been about to join them halfway through his story, he’d taken an offered pillow from Scott and was sitting on it, but Derek unfolded from behind him, the absence of his warmth making his back and the outside of his thighs feel uncomfortably chilled, and he disappeared back the way they’d come to deal with her or whoever it was that had opened the basement door.

He came back a short time later looking a bit disgruntled, but carrying a burdened tray of food and the four of them took a break from all the drama to chow down. Stiles was thankful that they all seemed to agree not to talk during meal because he, at least, was ravenous. Scott was, too, apparently, easily decimating his portion. By the end there were hardly even crumbs left and Stiles settled back once more, leaning against Derek like Allison was leaning against Scott. Stiles was pretty sure his food baby was bigger than her actually pregnant belly, but he knew better than to say anything about it.

_Women and weight_ , his dad’s voice warned him, _women and weight_.

"So Derek killed your aunt Kate?" Scott asked, and seemed to hold Allison tighter. His eyes flashed yellow and she squirmed a bit until she could turn her head to look at him.

"Scott, she was going to kidnap our baby and kill Stiles," she said gently, but with that familiar kind of Argent iron Stiles had noticed in all of her family. They didn't submit easily, either.

Scott looked a weird combination of chagrined, horrified, and guilty. When he turned to Derek he muttered something that could have been an apology, but it was too quiet for Stiles to hear. Derek made and answering noise and just like that the tension seemed to drain out of the room.

"I still can't believe you two have to stay down here," Stiles blurted out. He felt better for having said it, but could feel Derek's mild annoyance.

"You know it's to protect them and others," he chided gently, stubbled cheek sliding against his and Stiles had to fight the urge to close his eyes and nuzzle back.

He did fight it, though, and shifted uncomfortably because they still hadn't talked about the alpha pack, at least not in detail, or, most importantly, the various shades of omega.

"It might be a good time to stop for the night," Derek whispered against his neck and Stiles was going to protest because the rest of the story was important, but then he noticed Allison was dozing lightly, eyes half-closed and never not creepy. He'd thought she'd been joking when she'd first told him she could sleep with her eyes open, but it was actually the very creepy truth.

“We can at least let them sleep in a real bed, though, right?” Stiles said, looking back at Derek. He wasn’t okay with the arrangement at all. The inhumanity of the cage.

“Stiles, it’s too dangerous,” Derek said softly, though he was feeling regret at least, though about what Stiles could only guess. “My mother would be an exceptionally poor alpha if she allowed a newly bitten werewolf the potential to get loose. We’re lucky he has a few weeks to learn before his first full moon, but his control is still tentative at best.”

“We’ll be fine, Stiles,” Allison added, apparently not asleep after all. “We could, uh, we could actually use some privacy, if you don’t mind,” and Stiles immediately blushed because he knew exactly what she meant and he stood hastily, throwing out a hand to help haul Derek to his feet, not that he needed it, but still. Even after being together for a few years, Scott and Allison’s passion for each other hadn’t seemed to diminish at all. It was kind of awkward, at least for Stiles, though he was grateful that Scott had stopped telling him every single sexual detail like he had when he and Allison had started dating. He really didn’t need to hear about the dimples on her lower back or anything at all about her lady business.

That was just.

No.

They passed the pillow through the bars, and after making sure the other two didn’t need anything else they made their way back to Derek’s room, not pausing to chat with the rest of his family, who were apparently having a serious discussion in the living room. Well, as seriously as they could all piled on the gigantic plush couch cuddling and snuffling at each other.

Werewolves. _Seriously_.

“Do you, uh,” Stiles said once they’d closed Derek’s door, “do you think we could maybe stay at my dad’s house tonight?” He wasn’t sure why he was so hesitant to ask, but something about their situation, probably the newness of it, made him inexplicably nervous.

Derek cocked his head slightly, a gesture that strongly reminded Stiles of his wolf form, before nodded slowly. “Of course, Stiles, we don’t have to say here if you don’t want to.”

Stiles didn’t want to. He didn’t want to deal with the twins or Talia or any of it, not until he’d had a good night’s sleep, though he felt bad for leaving Scott and Allison there.

“I’ll make sure Laura checks on them in a few hours,” Derek promised, and Stiles couldn’t help but grin because Derek seemed to have the ability to read his mind or emotions or whatever, and that was pretty awesome.

He nodded, then moved to the closet. “Do you want to grab a change of clothes? I’m going to take the dress with us because as much as I appreciate Laura’s apparent open-mindedness, there’s no way I’m wearing it around your family. It’s more of a, well, it’s kind of private. Well, not just _masturbatory_ private,” though it was that, too, “it’s more of a thing I do when I’m relaxing. You know, cleaning and unwinding and all that.”

“Whatever you want,” Derek said easily, though his ears were red as he dug into the dresser and grabbed a couple of changes of clothes, tossing them into the duffle bag he’d used for Stiles when he’d left Chicago. Derek even snagged the lube from the nightstand and it was Stiles turn to blush. “Just in case,” he said with a wink and Stiles gave a startled laugh.

“Yeah, yeah, oh, we better grab the parts for the jeep, too,” he said, going for the boxes while trying to juggle the dress without squishing it and not having much success.

Derek easily took the parts from him and slipped them into the bag as well. “All set?” he asked, eyes warm as they raked down Stiles’ body and he kind of wanted to just drop the dress and jump Derek right then and there, but it wasn’t the time, especially not with the guy’s entire family, the pack, as a potential audience.

So Stiles just nodded, biting his lip and following Derek out the door and down the stairs. Talia met them in the entryway, looking not at all surprised to see them leaving, probably because she’d listened to their conversation and Stiles didn’t know what to think about that. He had some seriously mixed feelings about Derek’s mother in the first place, but he assumed there wasn’t much of an expectation of privacy in a house full of werewolves.

“Can we expect the two of you for breakfast in the morning?” she asked instead of pretty much anything else Stiles would have expected for her to say.

_Breakfast?_ That was strangely normal.

Derek actually looked at Stiles in what he’d come to recognize as his way of allowing Stiles to choose, to take the lead in the decision-making process. Not really having a good excuse to say no, and wanting to sort out Scott and Allison’s situation as quickly as possible, he nodded. “Okay, we’ll be here for breakfast,” he said quietly.

Talia smiled at them both, satisfied, and went back to the living room cuddle session without another word.

Stiles gave Derek a weirded-out look, but he just shook his head and led the way out the door.

Melissa called during their drive over to let Stiles know his dad had woken up, but had fallen back asleep already, which worried him until she explained it was normal.

“So he’s staying overnight?” Stiles asked, biting his lip and accepting the comfort of Derek’s warm hand on his thigh. The weight of it strangely reassuring.

“Yes, and I still don’t want you here. Did you talk to my son? He isn’t answering his phone again,” she said. Stiles grimaced because it was pretty clear that Scott was set to be in for one hell of a lecture when he got out of wolfy confinement.

Stiles glanced at Derek, who was watching the road placidly. “Uh, yeah, he and Allison had dinner with us at the Hales. I know the two of them said something about going to bed early,” he trailed off, letting Melissa make whatever assumptions she would.

She sighed. “My son is an idiot,” she lamented, “but I’m glad you got to see him. I’ll give him a call again tomorrow once I get John sorted out.”

“Thanks for taking care of him, Melissa,” Stiles said with a quiet kind of sincerity. He knew she cared for his dad and that their relationship was a good one, formed on a solid foundation of friendship. He wasn’t sure if the two of them would do anything like get married to make it official, but it didn’t really matter as long as they cared about and for each other.

They said their goodbyes as Derek pulled into the Stilinski’s driveway and Stiles had to take a few deep breaths to collect himself.

Derek let him take his time, his hand back on Stiles’ leg, a comforting pressure he couldn’t help but smile at. Things had actually turned out not terribly, which was a pretty awesome change of pace from Stiles’ normal misfortune.

“I can’t believe you’re real,” he confessed, turning to face Derek in the semi-darkness. Derek was smiling at him, the white of his teeth glistening faintly and his eyes flashed blue.

“I am pretty unbelievable,” he joked easily and Stiles chuckled.

“Would you like for me to wear the dress for you?” he blurted out before he lost his nerve. After seeing Derek’s initial reaction to it, even though Stiles had only been half-paying attention at the time, he’d known it was something the other man was interested in. Well, he hoped that was the case.

Derek’s eyes stayed blue and Stiles watched his adam’s apple bob as he swallowed. “Uh, yeah, yes. I would like that. If you want to,” he amended quickly.

Stiles placed both of his hands over where Derek’s had tightened apparently unconsciously on his thigh. “I didn’t shave my legs, obviously, but it doesn’t both me if it doesn’t bother you.”

“N-no,” Derek said and leaned closer, for a kiss Stiles realized as his eyes slipped shut and he moved to do the same, but then a phone was buzzing.

It was just one, which meant Derek’s and they both pulled back with groans.

“Sorry,” Derek said, lifting his hips to dig it out of his pocket. He read the name with a frown and picked up. “Mother? What’s wrong?” he asked and Stiles settled back against his seat, folding his arms across his chest and glancing out the window at the familiarity of the peaceful street where he’d grown up. He’d mowed more than half of the lawns there during his teenaged years, earning cookies and twenties as he went. It had been enough to keep gas in the jeep, at least, and sometimes during the more overwhelming moments of his life he’d wished to go back to that time, to the simplicity of it, but that wasn’t what he thought anymore, not after he’d found Derek.

Who was looking paler than before, his brow crinkled with worry and when Stiles reached out to touch his hand he felt the surge of barely-contained panic.

“Derek?” he asked nervously, mind whirring with thoughts of Scott and Allison and his dad, though he’d just gotten off the phone with Melissa-

“We’re heading to the hospital now,” Derek said and hung up, tossing the phone onto Stiles’ lap and starting the car. His hand was shaky when he put it on the shifter and Stiles seized it with his, keeping him from putting the car in reverse.

“Derek, I need you to tell me what’s going on. I know you’re upset and I don’t want you driving if you feel this panicked, okay?” Stiles tried to keep his tone even, but it was hard with the dread roiling in his stomach and Derek’s own emotions bubbling through as well, adding to his own and creating what felt like gut-wrenching turbulence inside of him. But he had a lot of experience with controlling his breathing and let out an audible breath, then inhaled and after a few it was clear that Derek was following along with him.

When he seemed calm enough, Stiles slid his hand up Derek’s arm until he was holding onto the back of his neck. “It’s Peter,” Derek finally gritted out, his emotions tangled together and more distinguishable since the panic had abated a bit, a combination of worry and dread and anger that made Stiles’ heart ache for him.

“I take it he’s not okay, is that why we’re headed to the hospital?”

Derek nodded. “He was stable when they brought him in earlier, but something’s happened and,” he trailed off, scrubbing a hand over his face. “I don’t want him to die alone,” he said tightly and Stiles bit his lip because it was _his_ fault that Derek’s uncle was dying. Well, it was _Peter’s_ fault, really, but Stiles had definitely been a part of the equation that had put Peter in the hospital, on his deathbed, apparently.

“Do you want me to drive?” he asked quietly, giving Derek’s neck a soft squeeze, letting him know Stiles was there for him.

But Derek shook his head and put the car in reverse. “No, I’m okay, now. I’ll get us there safely.” He stopped though, not immediately backing out of the driveway. He looked at Stiles, his eyes hazel again. “Thank you, Stiles,” he said softly, his affection pulsing through and Stiles nodded.

“I’m always here for you, Derek. Now let’s go and see what the fuss is about.”

  
  


The fuss, apparently, was that Peter’s werewolf healing had abruptly stopped, sending his vitals into erratic territory, which had prompted the hospital staff to contact the Hales, who were already surrounding his bed when Stiles and Derek got there. It was just them, though, no one else from the pack was around and he was oddly grateful for it, not up for being in the same room as the twins so soon after their conflict.

But the scene itself reminded him of when his mother had been sick, nearly constantly surrounded by people who had cared about her, friends and coworkers from the library, but only Stiles had been with her at the very end, his dad had been working and Melissa had gone to take Scott to his dad’s house for his weekend with his son.

Stiles swallowed at the memory and gladly accepted the grip of Derek’s warm hand when it brushed against his.

They were all saying their farewells and Stiles _couldn’t take it_.

“Can I try something?” he asked, voice unsteady, choked by Derek’s thick sorrow and his own regret. He remembered the reason he’d let Peter live in the first place and he hadn’t changed his mind about that.

Talia glanced at him from where she was gently touching the unmarred skin of Peter’s shin, the blanket folded back from his bare feet. He looked oddly small there, wearing the same kind of hospital gown his mother had been forced into, though his didn’t have the little patches of scrap fabric sewn onto the hem like hers had. She’d used the time, her last weeks, with Stiles after he’d gotten off of school and before his father had come to pick him up to teach him different stitches.

Still, it wasn’t an experience Stiles was interested in repeating, watching someone die.

After a lingering pause Talia nodded and stepped away, apparently signaling the others to do the same because then no one was touching Peter or the bed and Stiles walked forward, Derek in tow because he couldn’t do it alone, whatever it was he was doing. Stiles only really had a vague idea of how his magic work. He wasn’t at all certain he could do what he was about to attempt, but he knew he had to try.

He finally untangled his fingers from Derek’s and gave him what was probably a watery, uncertain smile. “Don’t worry, dude, I’m practically a pro at this,” he said for something to say, a lame attempt at lightening the mood. Stiles didn’t check to see how that was received, though, he just placed his hands over the hot, scarred flesh of Peter’s collarbones where the gown gaped open, not looking at the marred skin of his face, and closed his eyes.

Magic was about belief, Stiles knew. It was about _knowing_ something was true, even if he’d always been taught it wasn’t. People didn’t actually summon lightning, after all, that was all nature and electrons and weather. Earth couldn’t be manipulated by someone’s mind, not outside of a cartoon, but Stiles had proven both theories wrong.

And he was going to save Peter.

He focused on his anchor, on Derek, who stood just behind him nearer to his left side than his right. Even without touching him, Stiles knew he was concerned for both his uncle and for Stiles. He tried to hide it, but Stiles knew he was terrified of losing any member of his family, even the scarred asshole laid out in front of them.

Maybe Peter _didn’t_ deserve to live. Maybe he was an irredeemable creep who sought power when he should have been focusing on his own family, on making things right with his wife and kids. Maybe, but that wasn’t for Stiles to decide.

So he focused on himself, on his bond with Derek, still so tentative but already growing stronger. He remembered the events of earlier that day, how perfectly they fit together, how easy it was to be with Derek, not just sexually, but physically. He was like a living comfort blanket, he made Stiles’ muscles relax, his very presence easing the tension that had seemed a permanent part of himself. Stiles let himself feel that, let himself yield to the comfort Derek brought and he believed Peter would live.

Even with his eyes closed he could see a kind of blue light, different from the lightning he’d summoned before, it was bright, though, it had to be for him to have seen it, and dimly he could hear a kind of collective gasp. Laura and Rollin, probably, but Talia and Derek were silent.

Something inside of him began to pulse. It wasn’t his heart, it was, it was something deeper.

_Magic_.

Stiles felt heat. It rose from Peter and entered his palms were they touched, it soaked into Stiles’ body even as he pushed the coolness, the blueness into the other man, taking the hurt and giving him comfort, healing him.

_Holy shit_ , a dim part of Stiles’ mind felt obligated to comment as the pulsing became a dull kind of throb deep in his bones, _it was working_.

It was, he knew, could feel, and a part of him _hated_ that because it meant he might have been able to save his mom when she’d been sick, but even as tears tracked down his cheeks Stiles pressed on, forcing back the last bit of resistance, the final blaze of heat flashing over him before the temperature evened out, until there wasn’t anymore coolness, either. There was just smooth skin under his hands and a wetness on his face.

Stiles opened his eyes and Peter was staring up at him in awe, though his cheeks were dry.

“There’s a price,” Stiles said, not even caring that he was still crying because he was allowed to show how he felt. Miserable and elated, sorrowful and thrilled, loathsome and, and he wasn’t even sure what else, too wrapped up in the surrealness of the situation to be able to parse out the intricacies of his emotions.

Peter nodded uncertainly, never taking his pale eyes from Stiles.

“You’re going to go back to Wisconsin and you’re either going to make things right with your wife and kids or you’re going to leave the pack and never return.” And really, it wasn’t exactly his ultimatum to make, but Stiles had had enough. He was sick of the bullshit and the deception, he was tired of the games Peter and Talia had tried to play and that inevitably backfired on them. He wanted a resolution, one way or another.

As Stiles lifted his hands from Peter’s skin and stepped back Derek was there, one arm sliding around his waist and the other pulled tight across his chest, palm on the mark he’d put on Stiles’ throat as he held him.

_Anchored_ him.

“What is your choice, Peter?” Talia asked and Stiles felt Derek’s surprise as potently as his own. He hadn’t even thought about the possibility of her taking his side, but apparently that was a thing that was happening.

Peter was obviously shocked, too, but he blinked quickly and nodded to his alpha, then turned his head so his throat was bared to her. “I’ll go to Megan and see if she’ll have me back,” he said.

“Good luck with that,” Laura said dryly, but her eyes were glazed with tears and there wasn’t any anger in her voice.

There was a sound outside the door and Stiles glanced around, panicked for a second because Peter’s scars were just gone and-

“Shift just changed,” Derek whispered, voice ghosting over Stiles’ ear and he turned into it, until his cheek was brushing against Derek’s lips, “the new nurse hasn’t seen Peter, yet, so she won’t know the difference, besides, my parents can smooth over any discrepancies and get him out of here before morning.”

Stiles made a noise of understanding and let himself be pulled back from the bed, from where Talia, Rollin, and Laura were crowding back around Peter, touching his skin and being generally emotional.

“Can we see my dad?” Stiles asked quietly, knowing Derek would hear him and then they were walking out the door, passing one of the nurses Stiles vaguely recognized from having spent so much of his life at the hospital, for his mother or Scott’s.

Derek loosened his hold, but ended up with his arm slung over Stiles’ shoulders while he put his around Derek’s waist, keeping him close. “He’s just down the hall,” Derek told him and Stiles didn’t even question how he knew. Scent or sound or something, probably, but he was feeling raw and lethargic and just wanted to see his dad.

The sheriff had his eyes closed, apparently asleep and Stiles put a hand to his mouth to keep from sobbing because it was pretty much as bad as he’d expected, seeing him there and if he closed his eyes and opened them again he was certain it would be his mother on the bed instead and he _couldn’t handle it_. Melissa had been right to warn him off, but then Derek was pulling him close, wrapping him in a firm embrace and Stiles buried his face against his neck, letting his tears wet the skin there.

Derek shushed him gently, running his large hands up and down his back. “He’s okay, Stiles, I can hear his heartbeat,” he said quietly, tapping a rhythm against his spine. “There’s nothing to worry about, he’s just asleep. Come on, I’ll take you home, we shouldn’t stay here.”

“Melissa would kick my ass if she saw me,” Stiles said, voice wobbly and he was pretty sure he’d snotted on Derek’s shirt but he didn’t pull back to check because he he was a coward and didn’t want to.

“Come on, love,” Derek murmured against his temple and Stiles felt his body flush with the affection he felt and heard and he just held on tighter.

“I’ll say it one day,” he said so quietly only a werewolf could hear.

He felt Derek’s lips quirk up in a smile against his skin. “I know, Stiles, but I can wait until you’re ready.”

With one last glance over his shoulder at his dad, who really was just sleeping peacefully, he could tell from the way his chest rose and fell under the blanket, Stiles let himself be led out of the room.

Because Derek was going home with him and it felt _right_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Friday the 13th!  
> Heading to Vancouver at the end of the month for a week-long vacation with he parentals, any suggestions about things to do/see/eat? ^_^


	45. Chapter 45

Stiles didn’t remember leaving the hospital or the drive home, or anything really until he opened his eyes and was met by the pale blue of the cloudless sky and the familiar softness of the lush grass under his naked back. The air was warm like always and there wasn’t a sound besides the whisper of the breeze lazily ghosting through the stalks tickling his bare sides.

“Derek?” he whispered and felt the caress of his mate’s touch against his cheek. Stiles closed his eyes and breathed out a sigh.

_It was one of those dreams, then._

But he didn’t know if he wanted it, to be there in the serenity of the rolling landscape, so far removed from everything and everyone, but then again that was kind of perfect because Stiles was so profoundly exhausted with keeping up the charade, keeping up with the bullshit, that he didn’t know if he ever really wanted to leave the place at all. He’d spoken to his mother there, after all, and despite being aware that he wasn’t supposed to seek her out again, Stiles knew he wouldn’t be able to help himself if he was there for long. Partially because of his impulse-control issues, but mostly because it was the only way he could see her, and he wasn’t going to give that up, not again.

His mind wandered to what had transpired in the hospital, all the things that had happened there and suddenly it was like there were building waves of self-loathing and misery crashing into him with the thoughts and with every breath, filling his lungs with dead air, suffocating him with anguish until his hands and feet began to grow numb from it.

Derek’s touch came more roughly than before, concerned as his hands gripped the sides of Stiles’ chest, worried, probably about the way his breathing had changed, had slowed and if Stiles gave into what he was feeling, would stop altogether. It wasn't the worst way to go.

“Stiles?” Derek asked, right next to him, but he still didn’t open his eyes. He was too exhausted for that, to pretend anymore. But Derek persisted because of course he did, broad hands stroking Stiles’ bare skin, sliding down and up his torso to his throat and back to his hips, like he was trying to coax the breath in and out of Stiles’ lungs.

It worked, somehow.

“I could have saved her,” Stiles whispered eventually, when he had the breath to spare. His lungs burned like he’d been running, but it had only been from himself, the same as always.

Derek nuzzled his rough cheek against Stiles’ throat and made a wolfish noise of inquiry. He was still on-edge, but was no longer feeling as tense as before, Stiles could sense. There was a kind of hope mixed in with the rest, too, though Stiles wasn’t sure that was entirely appropriate. But despite all of that it was hard to stay tense when surrounded by the peaceful solitude of their field.

Stiles let his eyes slit open, the unfathomable sky filling his vision in that blue so pale it was almost a non-color. “My mother,” he clarified, feeling Derek pause where his lips had been caressing Stiles’ neck. “I could have saved my mother if I’d been strong enough, if she had taught me about my magic back them,” which was kind of like blaming the victim, victims, maybe, but Stiles was too raw to care.

He felt like an open wound, sluggishly bleeding out, his emotions gone dull with the shock of it, no longer trusting himself to move or think because he may as well be dying from it, from the memory of the pain that would have throbbed inside of him if he weren’t too numb to feel.

Derek pulled him closer, tucking Stiles against his chest, their legs tangling until it was hard to tell where one of them ended and the other began. It was a startlingly secure sensation, a grounding one that Stiles wasn’t sure he’d ever get used to, no matter how many times they curled up together. The embrace felt oddly warm to the general static of his body.

“Stiles,” Derek said softly, his tone as gentle as he’d ever heard, “I know you’re still mourning her, that you’ll never really stop and that’s okay, you’re allowed your sorrow and your pain, but I’m also allowed to share that with you. I’m your anchor as much as you are mine.”

Stiles felt his brow furrow without his permission, like his body was just taking over for him because he was doing a shit job of managing things on his own. “I know,” he said without any kind of strength in his voice. That at least was accurate. He hadn’t felt so drained since he’d killed, well, thought he’d killed, Gerard. The first time. But that sensation had been outside the dream, when Derek had been nearly frantic with worry and had given him a bath for the first time.

He was getting distracted. That probably wasn’t a good sign.

“I know,” he repeated, somewhat normally, doing his best to make his tone even and probably failing. “I used our bond to help me heal Peter.”

And the memory of that made the self-loathing crash into him again, and he could feel his heart stutter that time, an uncomfortable lurch inside of his chest and Derek was there, looming over him with a panicked expression.

“Stiles, don’t,” Derek demanded, but he was pretty sure neither of them knew exactly how to end that sentence. It wasn’t really possible to put into words how profoundly they both felt the frantic no coming from Derek, clouding the air like a squid’s reactionary ink in the face of a predator. If Stiles had been a werewolf he probably would have been able to smell the fear-stink Derek was undoubtedly giving off.

“I’m done,” Stiles said quietly because he was. He was done with the drama and the bullshit, with the manipulations and the discomfort. He was done with the emotional rollercoaster he’d experienced since it had all started, since he’d taken the Argent account the previous month. Just a fucking month and he’d nearly been killed, nearly gotten his loved ones killed too many times to count. Well, that wasn’t true, Stiles could count exactly how many times there had been mortal peril in his life and the lives of his loved ones and the number was panic-inducing.

But Derek’s expression had grown inexplicably soft and he found that he could still breathe. “Hey,” Derek said with a gentle kind of chiding, “you can’t give up, now, we just found each other. We’re mates, love, do you think this kind of thing happens everyday?”

Stiles couldn’t stop his grin and the laugh started out of him because it was a bastardization of a _Princess Bride_ quote and he really did love Derek, even if he was too petrified to admit it out loud. But that thought just exhausted him further and his smile faded into something like pain, an unattractive grimace.

“But what happens if things just continue to grow even darker, even more terrible? I mean, my best friend’s a _werewolf_ now, my dad was drugged and _kidnapped_ because of me, and now we have to put up with two of the assholes who helped do that to us. I’ve _killed_ people, Derek, I don’t want to kill people,” he trailed off miserably and opened his eyes fully to look at his mate, who was watching him with an affectionate kind of concern, his head haloed by the bright sky.

“You don’t have to do it alone,” Derek insisted, then paused like he was thinking about something, eyes glancing up and away before he focused back on Stiles, his hands lowering to touch the sides of his face with such delicacy Stiles felt just how breakable he was, how easily he could fracture under the pressure. “My dad loves quotations and this is one he told me when I was a teenager and was having a horrible time controlling my senses at school. You think the locker room smells bad to a human? Just be thankful you never had my nose.”

Stiles felt himself lighten a bit at that, at the casual memory Derek had shared because the more he found out about him, the more real it felt; their relationship, Derek’s touch.

_Grounding_.

“Sir Winston Churchill, he was a Brit, by the way,” Derek said with a wink and Stiles couldn’t ever get over the thrill at seeing him so carefree, “he said; if you’re going through hell, keep going.”

Stiles let that sink in, settling into his nerves like Derek had settled against his thighs, his weight holding Stiles down in a way that should have been stifling but wasn’t. He’d gotten used to the touch or he’d gotten used to Derek or both. He wasn’t sure and for once didn’t care to over analyze it. Stiles took a deep breath and let it out with a sigh.

“Hell is other people,” he replied and grinned when Derek rolled his eyes.

“You’re impossible.”

“Impossibly alluring, you mean,” Stiles insisted and Derek smiled, leaning down to kiss him, to kiss away the sorrow that had slowly begun to drain from him and Stiles found he could breathe easier with Derek there, holding and caressing him like he wasn’t that fragile anymore, but still as if he mattered.

It was all kind of mind-blowing.

Eventually they were both gasping from it, growing hard and impatient for more when Derek cocked his head to the side in a way that Stiles knew meant he was listening to something, someone out of Stiles’ range. He wasn’t sure who it could have been since he assumed they were at his house, well, his dad’s house.

“Derek?” he whispered, his erection flagging as worry started to take over. He was too weak to fight, even in the dream he could feel that, which probably meant his body was completely spent.

Derek looked back at him and flashed a reassuring smile, “Don’t worry, Stiles,” he instructed, but he wasn’t feeling quite as confident.

“If you need to go take care of it you can,” he whispered, watching the obvious play of emotions on Derek’s face, his expression no longer as closed off as it had been when they’d first met. The emotional transference helped as well, but he didn’t need to have that to know Derek was reluctant to leave him alone in the dream.

“I’ll stay here,” Stiles promised. “I won’t go wandering off this time.”

That seemed to help, but Derek still leaned in for a lingering kiss before he pulled back with a frown. “I won’t be long. Call out if you need me.”

“As you wish,” Stiles said quietly and Derek gave him a private kind of smile before he vanished.

It was an odd sensation, being suddenly bereft of his lover, so Stiles rolled onto his stomach to keep from dwelling on the abrupt coolness across his thighs, the absence of Derek’s careful touch. It felt kind of miserable being alone, but he knew it could be worse, so much worse, which didn’t exactly cheer him up, but it was something else to think about.

He didn’t end up thinking though. Strangely enough he ended up actually sleeping, which, when he woke back up to the field and the blue sky and Derek, seemed a bit inception-ish, but Derek was just laid out casually beside him, chin propped on one hand while the other trailed lightly up and down Stiles’ side with a lazy kind of affection.

“How long was I sleeping?” he asked, then cleared his throat at how rough it sounded.

“A day and a half,” Derek replied easily. “Deaton said you might.” There was more to it than that, Stiles could tell, but let Derek take his time in telling as he enjoyed the gentle sweep of the soft fingers against his skin.

“What about my dad?” he couldn’t help but ask.

“He’s home. Well, he came home, checked on you, then went to Melissa’s when he was sure you’d be alright.”

And that was kind of amusing and uncomfortable at the same time, though he knew he’d have to just get used to the concept of the two of them having sleepovers eventually. Make peace with it or whatever.

“Scott?” He asked when Derek didn’t continue. When it became clear he was going to have to drag things out of his mate.

The ass.

“Mother talked to him and Allison. Chris was there, too, as was my father and Laura. They put me on speakerphone so I could be part of the discussion as well, but I mostly listened. They formally offered him and the Argents, places in the pack. The three of them are thinking about it. Scott said he wasn’t going to make a decision without talking to you first and the others seemed inclined to agree with him on that.”

“Bro code,” Stiles said with a nod.

Derek smiled faintly and shrugged. “He’d be the omega, if he accepted. He’d bring balance to the pack and it would help him keep control of his new instincts, but no one is going to pressure him.”

“But even if he doesn’t join he’d be an omega, right? And omegas without packs go feral.” Stiles said, baffled that there was any leeway at all in the offer. It seemed kind of like a shitty situation either way, but not really one that required a ton of debate. Either live in the shadow of the pack, hopefully being given a say in how things worked, or go insane and die.

Derek gave another half-shrug. “It happens, but he has such a strong anchor I’m not sure that would happen to him. Mother did explain everything, though. Thoroughly.”

Which was unexpected, but appreciated. Stiles said as much and Derek leaned in or a chaste kiss. “Looks like you’re a pretty good influence on the pack, too,” he said with affection.

“Is this your recruitment speech? Because if so I’ve got to say I’m not all that impressed. I’d expect at least a personalized mug or a plaque or something to woo me to see your point of view,” Stiles snarked, already feeling better than before he’d taken his excessively long nap.

Derek tucked his face against Stiles’ throat, against the mark, and breathed a laugh, lathing his tongue across the skin there before pulling back with merriment in his eyes. Stiles could feel the change from earlier, from when they’d both been near panic. Derek was relaxed, calm and so tender it made the empty ache in Stiles’ chest start to fill. “I thought you were already a member of the pack,” he said, hand trailing up Stiles side to caress his cheek, Derek’s fingers delicate as he touched the planes of his face with an obvious kind of care.

“I was,” Stiles said, but he didn’t feel any kind of shift in Derek’s mood, so he continued, not knowing if he really understood what Stiles was saying. “I accepted a role in your mother’s pack under false pretenses, Derek. She coerced me into joining and I’m not sure if I feel comfortable remaining in her pack after everything that’s happened.”

Derek looked him in the eyes, hand still resting against his cheek, and nodded. “I’d follow you to hell, remember,” he said quietly, “and I hope you don’t think I’d abandon you because of your justifiable discomfort with how my mother runs her pack. I would like for us to talk about things before we make any kind of decision, and hopefully talk to her, but until then would you like to wake up, now? I’m not certain how much longer you should sleep.”

Stiles couldn’t believe it, and for a brief moment he didn’t, not until he felt Derek’s resolute sort of contentment flow through their bond and then Stiles was pushing him over onto his back so he was straddling the larger man, elated and unburdened for the first time in months, years.

“We’re still going to therapy,” he announced, sliding his hands up and down the muscular torso twitching between his bare thighs.

“And we’re going to Chicago before the holidays to sort things out,” Derek reminded him, hands moving from Stiles’ hips to his lower back.

“And we’re telling my dad everything, if he doesn’t already know,” Stiles continued.

Derek nodded, then grinned brilliantly. “As you wish,” he whispered and Stiles collapsed forward, their kiss awkward because they were both smiling, laughing, but it didn’t matter because it was a perfect start to the rest of their lives.

  
  


Though of course they had to wake up eventually because that was how life _actually_ worked. Stiles felt uncomfortably stiff, kind of like he’d been lying in the same position for a day, which, hey, he had been, so that sucked. Derek helped him stand up, then half-carried him to the bathroom where he took a long piss with only minimal werewolf hovering, then settled into the perfectly warm water of the tub. Derek declined the invitation to join him because yeah, it probably wouldn't have been big enough for the two of them, but he did sit on the floor beside Stiles, running his hand through the water, up and down Stiles’ body and he hummed at the sensation.

“Is this what it’s like to be petted when you’re a wolf?” Stiles asked, tilting his head sideways to gauge Derek’s reaction.

He snorted and flicked a few drops of water at Stiles’ nose. “I’m not a dog, Stiles. Even in my wolf form I’m still me, but yeah,” he admitted reluctantly, “I guess it’s probably a bit like that. It feels good to be touched by someone I love, no matter my form.”

Stiles blushed, he couldn’t help it, and Derek leaned closer to nuzzle against the side of his neck. But then another thought occurred to him and he pulled back, giving Derek a weird look.

“Uh, what exactly do you mean by _touched_? Because you know, you have your free agency and all that, but-”

“Jesus, Stiles,” Derek said, rocking back on his heels and pressing his hands to his face, apparently not caring that he was getting his skin wet. “I don’t want to have sex with you in my wolf form.”

Stiles lifted his hands, splashing water as he flailed a bit. “I’m sorry, okay, I just had to ask, I don’t know the rules. We had sex in your beta form, which, you know, was pretty fucking hot and something we should definitely do again, in case you were wondering, so the logical leap was there."

Derek’s shoulders jumped and he breathed out a laugh, lowering his hands from his face. “Okay, that’s fair. You know I expected you to ask stuff like this sooner-”

“It’s not like we’ve had a ton of time to hang out and chat,” Stiles protested.

“-but I’ll gladly answer any questions you have,” Derek finished evenly.

“Okay, how many bedrooms should our apartment have?”

Derek blinked at him, then shook his head like he was accepting that he’d never understand Stiles’ leaps in thought and his expression became considering. “I don’t know. I mean, I’d like to share a room with you. We could have a bed that actually fits the two of us comfortably-”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, my twin is plenty comfortable.”

“-and then another room for your office, if you want to work from home.”

“Oh, you could work out in there while I’m doing my auditing stuff so I’ll have something else to focus on, which actually helps my concentration,” Stiles said, winking at Derek, who rolled his eyes.

“Whatever you want, Stiles,” he said dryly and Stiles threaded the fingers of one of his wet hands into the hair on the back of Derek’s head, pulling him close enough for their lips to touch.

“Promise?” Stiles asked, raising his eyebrows.

Derek licked his lips, tongue skimming Stiles’ as well. “Maybe I’ll work out naked, see if that helps,” he murmured.

“You’re evil, Hale,” Stiles retorted, but then he was pulling Derek in for a kiss.

Stiles eventually asked another half-dozen questions, ranging from werewolf behavior to how they were going to manage dish duty, and by the time the water had grown tepid they’d sorted out a lot of the things Stiles had come to learn could become issues when two people shared a space.

“Laura fixed your jeep,” Derek said quietly against his skin. "She finished it this morning and wants more cookies." His touch was warmer than the water and it made Stiles shiver. “Come on, out you go,” Derek said immediately, drawing back, but Stiles seized his hand.

“Hold on, Derek, I’ve been stewing in my own filth here, come shower with me and then we can do whatever. Eat? Eating sounds good.”

Surprisingly, Derek didn’t protest. He leaned forward, sliding his palm teasingly down Stiles’ leg, and pulled the plug on the drain, smirking as put his hand back on Stiles' thigh, hand hot as the water lowered around his body.

“Don’t start something you can’t finish,” Stiles warned cheekily, shivering from the anticipation of it as much as from the chill of the air. Derek noticed, though, and easily hauled Stiles to his feet, waiting for him to stabilize before he pulled back and stripped off his clothes. He was just wearing a shirt and briefs, so Stiles wasn’t left wanting for long.

“Move over,” Derek ordered, stepping into the tub, the draining water lapping at their ankles as he pulled the curtain shut and shifted Stiles back so he could get to the faucet. When he was satisfied with the temperature he pulled the knob on the spout and stood up, his back keeping the at-first cold water from hitting Stiles.

“Ever the gentleman,” he joked pressing his palms against Derek’s warm chest, but he was thankful for it, for what the gesture meant. Derek was always there for him, and was willing to help Stiles in whatever way he needed. “But you know, I think I might have something for you,” he said, looking down Derek’s firm body, already glistening with water. He ran his hand down Derek’s torso and closed his eyes, trying to parse out all of the feelings that lurked beneath. If he concentrated he could make them out and there was one buried deeply beneath the contentment and residual worry that made Stiles sigh. “You didn’t sleep when I was out of it, did you?” he asked as he reached for the soap, squirting some into his palm and rubbing his hands together until there were enough suds to satisfy him.

Derek shook his head mutely, the water slicking his hair, cascading across his shoulders and down his abdomen, giving him the look of some wild water nymph. Stiles grinned at the memory of having guessed that, once.

“Then I propose,” he said, sliding his hands up and down Derek’s tense arms, “that I wash you up, put you to bed, then cook something for us to eat and bake Laura those cookies while you take a well-deserved nap.” He leaned forward enough for his breath to ghost across Derek’s throat and he moaned, one hand palming the back of Stiles’ head, petting him, but not forcing him forward. “What do you say?” he asked, licking the hollow there. Derek’s head fell back with a breathy moan, water beating against his hair and forehead, but he didn’t seem to care.

Stiles’ hands moved up and down Derek’s arms, the suds quickly rinsed away by the water. He kept his mouth on Derek’s neck, though, alternating licking and sucking until Derek’s other hand braced against the wall as he panted for breath.

“Stiles,” he ground out, hand tightening in his hair before relaxing.

He pulled off with a pop and winked at Derek, who was watching him, open-mouthed and flush. “Derek,” he said, voice rougher than before, “come on, it’s time for me to take care of you,” he wrapped his hand loosely around Derek’s cock, already hard. He kind of wanted to give him a blowjob, instead, but figured their first foray into shower sex should be something simple and less likely to cause either of them physical injury.

Stroking him off didn’t take long, especially not when Stiles wrapped his other arm around Derek’s waist, fingers gently squeezing his ass before brushing against his rim and he came like that, between the two of them, silent but for the harsh breaths he panted against Stiles’ neck, whole body slumping forward against him and yeah, Derek was pretty fucking exhausted. And heavy.

After some creative uses of the yoga moves Laura and Erica had taught him, Stiles managed to get them cleaned up, relatively dry, and then put Derek in bed. He only grumbled in protest when Stiles slipped out of his grasp and that was how he knew just how exhausted Derek really was, the fact that he’d been able to get out of his grip in the first place.

“Sleep,” he ordered and grinned when Derek grumbled something and rolled over, dragging the comforter around his bare shoulders. Stiles had wrestled some underwear onto him, but that was the extent of it.

He, however, was still naked, so he moved to his dresser when something in the open closet caught his attention. Stiles went to investigate and grinned. It was his new dress.

“Perfect,” he whispered, and slipped it on.

He always loved baking in a dress.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My mother the surgeon has written a children's book out of the blue (she made it up on the fly when my nephew wanted to hear a story) and is in the process of illustrating it BECAUSE SHE CAN DO ALL THE THINGS EVER! Seriously, she's amazing at picking up hobbies, mastering them, then putting them down again because she gets bored...I aspire to be her but minus all of the surgery-ing people and being part of a crazy cult. Other than that, yeah, she's a BOSS.
> 
> So, this is the last chapter of this story, but I've got a bit of an outline for part three *falls to the ground weeping*  
> BUT I've also been dabbling with the Pacific Rim/Teen Wolf AU, which is still a bit on the backburner (sorry, kittens) AND a mating run fic that's coming along swimmingly. Pretty sure the mating run fic will be next (independent of the Posing Problems 'vers)...just have to think of a title (suggestions, as always, are welcome).   
> If you suggested something for the Posing Problems fics rest assured I actually have been keeping track of what you've said and am trying to find ways to include them in the narrative (taking suggestions for the third story's title, too ^_^)
> 
> I LOVE YOU KITTENS!
> 
> Find me at ravingrevolution.tumblr.com


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